


Strangers Of The Heart

by urlocalswan



Series: 1987 [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi Keiji & Kozume Kenma Friendship, Akaashi Keiji-centric, Akakuro - Freeform, Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bokuaka - Freeform, Bokuto Koutarou & Kuroo Tetsurou are Bros, Car Sex, Consensual Underage Sex, EMPHASIS ON THE HAPPY ENDING I SWEAR, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, KuroKen - Freeform, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Minor Bokuto Koutarou/Kuroo Tetsurou, Past Relationship(s), Punk Rock, Recreational Drug Use, Suicide Attempt, Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, akaashi PLEASE go to therapy, akaashi spends the entire fic gay panicking, bokuto is an obvious baby, clunky song references, kuroo is a whore, lots of characters make an appearance but i don't think i'll tag them, set in 1987, uhhh this is my first fic idek what to do
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23208238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urlocalswan/pseuds/urlocalswan
Summary: "The year is 1987 and Akaashi Keiji wants nothing less than the adventure of a lifetime. Boredom was what had prompted Akaashi to walk in the direction opposite his home after school on that fateful, unseasonably cool October day. He was bored of his house and everything in it, from the knick-knack clutter (or, as he privately called them, “the rich man’s dust-collector”) to the book club his mother hosted on Thursdays. He hated how for as long as he could remember, his mother would gently blow in his face and ask sweetly if her breath smelled like alcohol. Even then, though, he couldn’t really blame her. Not when his father’s addiction was shaped like a figure-eight and twenty years his junior. Akaashi understood from a young age that people are the most dangerous drug on the market. That is precisely why, if you had told him in advance, he never would’ve believed just how addicted he’d get to one certain person."Strangers of the heartAlways safe with words unspokenStrangers of the heartDon’t take chances, they’ll get broken
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji/Konoha Akinori, Akaashi Keiji/Kuroo Tetsurou, Konoha Akinori/Shirofuku Yukie
Series: 1987 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1703413
Comments: 74
Kudos: 130





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi! so this is my first fic and uhhhh i'm honestly really nervous about sharing my writing bUT i'm also excited to see what sort of feedback i get! i really dont know how this works sdjdfvjjeo anyway i love these boys w my whole heart and i hope you enjoy reading this! ib the song "Strangers Of The Heart" by Heart, i recommend giving it a listen for some foreshadowing ;)  
> IMPORTANT: this is one of a series i'm working on so i went ahead and tagged all the ships, as they will all appear at some point. this is, however, a BOKUAKA fic

Akaashi

From a strictly practical perspective, Akaashi Keiji was not extraordinary. He was a pretty boy, a quiet boy.

No one could ever quite get a read on him at first glance, and he liked it that way.

No one was really sure what he was thinking until he spoke, and even then, it was only the slightest of glances into the inner workings of his mind.

In school, he was a good student; he got good grades, did most of his homework, and most of his teachers liked him. Sometimes he’d get funny looks from his peers for the questions he asked in class, but he’d learned to ignore them long ago.

His family lived in a nice house in a nice neighborhood, with his father working and his mother serving as homemaker. They made a rather picturesque family, he supposed.

No one needed to know about his father’s affair or his mother’s drinking habit. It wasn’t uncommon. Akaashi was mostly focused on doing well in school to get into a good university and getting far, far away from the sleepy suburbs he currently occupied.

It wasn’t that he had a bad life, per se. It was just…. Ordinary. He had resigned himself to a fate of mediocrity, at least while he was in high school. If he needed something to get him through the daily toils, he turned to literature, because where else could one step so wholly into a new world, one of beauty and excitement and romance? Reading or writing, it didn’t matter to Akaashi.

Indeed, he found himself content, mostly. He was already in his second year of high school, after all. He’d only have to make it through another half a year, then his senior year, and he’d be free to live life as he pleased. High school was a pain, and he intended to keep a low profile and simply coast through the remainder of his days until graduation.

He could hold off on those ideas from novels, the excitement and adventure and romance. Akaashi had decided it might not be for him all together, what with all the galivanting about and instability.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

The reality was too fearsome for him to face. The reality of Keiji was that he was desperate for adventure, salivating at the mouth for the freedom of a good, old-fashioned mission to save the world. And, perhaps worst of all, deeply bored of a life lacking the spark of romance.

Boredom, however, was both the problem and the solution. Bored was Akaashi of people he could decipher in the span of a conversation. Bored was he of the performative nature all high school dating reeked of. Sometimes he feared the only people he’d ever find interesting were the people just as damaged as he was.

Then, of course, he’d blink a beat longer than usual in frustration.

If he had time to ponder the dark innerworkings of how his parents’ marriage dynamic impacted his ability to ever find love, he damn sure had time to find someone both interesting _and_ healthy.

Boredom was the solution, indeed.

Boredom was what had prompted Akaashi to walk in the direction opposite his home after school on that fateful, unseasonably cool October day. He was bored of his house and everything in it, from the knick-knack clutter (or, as he privately called them, “the rich man’s dust-collector”) to the book club his mother hosted on Thursdays. He hated how for as long as he could remember, his mother would gently blow in his face and ask sweetly if her breath smelled like alcohol. Even then, though, he couldn’t really blame her. Not when his father’s addiction was shaped like a figure-eight and twenty years his junior. Akaashi understood from a young age that people are the most dangerous drug on the market.

That is precisely why, if you had told him in advance, he never would’ve believed just how addicted he’d get to one certain person.

As he ambled along the sidewalk, he fought the childish urge to stomp on the emaciated leaves littering the ground before him, and Akaashi wondered distantly why human instinct dictated that the destruction of fragility was the natural state of the world. As beautiful as the fall leaves were, they were not beautiful enough to overcome his desire to crush them underfoot.

Akaashi tore his eyes off the ground, still struggling now and then with his old habit of keeping his gaze down. He looked up just in time to avoid running smack-dab into the narrow chest of a tall, smirking first-year.

“Pardon me,” Akaashi muttered, to which he received a slight nod in response before the younger student carried on his way. Akaashi didn’t mind, really, even if he secretly contended the near-collision was just as much the other boy’s fault as his.

Onward he went, this time making sure to leave a large breadth between him and the foot traffic flowing the opposite direction. He hadn’t anticipated there being so many other people out and about at four in the afternoon on a Thursday, but that just went to show how little he himself was anywhere but his bedroom. Distantly, Akaashi thought he should probably call his mother to let her know he wouldn’t be coming straight home, but decided against it; she’d be even more upset that he interrupted her book club meeting than if he arrived late.

A light breeze stirred his black locks as Akaashi took in the scenery around him, mundane as it was. It had been overcast since the morning, but as the sun stretched out its hand to caress the horizon, the clouds were begrudgingly taking their leave just in time for night to fall. With the retreating sun, the temperature was inching lower, and Akaashi tightened his lips. _“If you’re so damn smart, why can’t you ever remember a jacket?”_ The thought tickled his mind as he slid his glasses back up his nose stubbornly. He’d be indoors soon enough, anyway, so why bother?

It was, in fact, another forty-five minutes until he was indoors, and night had closed in like a predator on its prey. Akaashi found himself crouched down outside the public library, of all places, fishing around in his backpack for a quarter to use the payphone. Naturally, the library had already closed by the time he’d arrived, and Akaashi was faced with either walking an hour back home, in the dark, or conceding defeat and having his father come pick him up.

Neither option was particularly appetizing, but at least he had enjoyed his walk, and his small act of rebellion. There were far more nefarious kids starting to grow alert since night had once again fallen, and Akaashi figured a kid that wanders off to the library after school was the lowest rung of the troublemaker scale. There were a few groups that had gained notoriety in the area (Akaashi hardly considered a bunch of overprivileged kids goofing off in leather jackets a gang).

It had probably dropped a solid seven degrees since Akaashi had first left school, and he couldn’t help but shiver when the wind stirred his hair, tickling his cheek.

He had no quarters. Not even some stupid nickels. If it got any later, Akaashi knew his mother would really start to worry; another hour or two and she’d be hysterical. Knowing her, she’d have all the cops in the county looking for him, only to find him frozen to the steps of the public library.

To make matters worse, Akaashi was hungry. He was cold and hungry and thoroughly annoyed, and if one more damn leaf skittered across the ground and startled him, he’d have a freaking nervous fit. Akaashi stood from where he’d sat on the steps and began pacing and rubbing his hands together, a meager attempt to generate some heat. The hell sort of place got so cold so fast?

_“Well, then. Seems there’s no other choice,”_ Akaashi thought, sighing heavily before heaving his backpack on; he’d have to walk home. It’s not that it was a particularly arduous trek, or that the area he lived in was unsafe.

No, Akaashi was just ticked off. What had he expected to happen, exactly? He hadn’t admitted it to himself, but in the back of his mind, Akaashi had thought that maybe, just maybe, if he made up his mind and set off on an unknown journey, adventure would find him on his own.

Disappointed and feeling incredibly naïve, Akaashi had taken precisely three steps away from the library when destiny arrived late to its date.

“Boo,” a voice from behind him said, and Akaashi swore his soul defied the laws of physics when it leapt from his body. He spun around so fast that the additional weight from his backpack nearly threw him off balance, but he managed to steady himself and blink hard at the figure before him.

It was hard to make out in the dim lighting of the moon above, but destiny appeared to Akaashi in what seemed to be the shape of a miscreant.

Spiked black hair in disarray, liberal amounts of eyeliner, and a smirk devious enough to worry the gods; was _this_ meant to be Akaashi’s big moment? How does one even greet adventure? He was still annoyed at having been snuck up on.

“Um. Hello,” Akaashi replied, still taken aback by the sight before him. It wasn’t even nine at night—what was someone of this male’s ilk doing out so early? Akaashi had the distinct feeling he was being sized up, but for what, he wasn’t quite able to ascertain.

“You lost, pal?” The stranger’s voice, despite his inflammatory words, remained silky smooth, and his eyes didn’t leave Akaashi’s face as he removed a package of cigarettes from the pocket of his leather jacket.

From it, he removed a lighter and two cigarettes, politely offering one to Akaashi, who tersely shook his head. This prompted an elegant shrug from the other boy. He was built larger than Akaashi, with broad shoulders and a sturdy frame. A good-looking guy, to be sure, but that glint in his eye told Akaashi he was not to be underestimated.

“Not exactly. Could I bother you for a quarter?” The questions Akaashi wanted to ask were more akin to _“where the hell did you come from”_ and _“where did you get that jacket, it looks warm”_ , but he had his priorities.

The other boy snorted, puffs of smoke blowing from his nostrils like some sort of dragon cursed to human form. “What is it, 1959? No, Granny, I don’t have a quarter,” he replied, and Akaashi felt his patience wearing thin.  
“I asked for a quarter, not an attitude. You could’ve just said no; there’s no need to be rude,” he found himself snapping, arms crossing in indignation. Internally, he was taken aback by the sharpness of his tone.

The other boy, whom Akaashi estimated to be not much older than himself, raised his eyebrows slightly, then took a final drag from his cigarette before flicking it to the ground and extinguishing it with the toe of his boot. Akaashi’s heartbeat hiccupped when the black-haired boy took a step closer, then another.

“Before you interrupted, I was _going_ to say I don’t have any quarters, but I’ve got wheels, and if you’re stuck here, I wouldn’t mind giving you a ride. Now, though, I’m not so sure…” The glint in his dark eyes told Akaashi that the stranger was getting a real kick out of this whole situation. Still, though, he didn’t strike Akaashi as dangerous, not necessarily. Untrustworthy, maybe, but not lethal.

So, stuck between a rock and a hard place, he was forced to swallow his pride.

“Ah. My apologies. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, of course,” Akaashi said, uncrossing his arms and hoping to convey genuineness.

The stranger tilted his head and took yet another step closer. He was now within the bounds of Akaashi’s personal space, causing him to blink once, hard. The smell of cigarette smoke clung to the other boy, but the faint smell of cologne still reached Akaashi’s nose. Old Spice, maybe. It smelled similar to the soap his father used. Still, Akaashi found his feet frozen to the cement beneath him, unable to move away, held in place by dark eyes ringed in dark liner framed by dark hair.

“If _what_ wouldn’t be too much trouble?” the stranger asked, so close that Akaashi could feel the warmth of his breath float across the surface of his cheek.

It was suddenly difficult to form words.

_“Get your shit together. Just tell him you need a ride. It’s not that hard. It’s just four words.”_

“Giving me a ride.”

But why did it feel so dirty to say? He meant it as purely as possible, but it was almost as if a spell had been cast upon Akaashi that caused all his thoughts to take a sharp turn off-track.

Akaashi’s heart pounded five full times before he got a response.

The other boy leaned out of the bubble of Akaashi’s personal space, an oddly triumphant smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Yeah, I’ll give you a ride. C’mon.”

With no further ado, Stranger strode off towards the back of the parking lot, his long legs carrying him quickly away from Akaashi. It took a hard swallow before Akaashi could force himself to follow.

Before him sat what was probably the ugliest car Akaashi had ever had the misfortune of laying eyes upon. For starters, the red paint was chipped and flaking in several locations, and the back window was almost entirely blotted out by those obnoxious travel stickers; he was surprised it was even safe to drive. The second thing he noticed was the duct tape covering one of the back windows, followed by the fact that none of the rims matched each other. Akaashi didn’t know much about cars, but he thought these things were the basics.

“Betty ain’t the prettiest, but she gets to job done,” Stranger commented, twirling his car keys around his index finger as he took in Akaashi’s reaction.

“What is it—um, she?” Akaashi inquired, as the insignia had broken off the front of the vehicle.

“Toyota Tercel. Ugly or not, I scored the wagon, which means plenty of room in the back seat.” The information was followed by one of those sly smiles, and the distraction the hideous car had offered failed to work on Akaashi’s brain anymore.

“Right. Well, I live in Magnolia Trace. I can give you directions if you need them,” he said, willing his face to remain neutral. Stranger let out a low whistle as he unlocked the car, banging on the hood twice in order to pry the passenger door open for Akaashi. After slugging his backpack onto the baseboard at his feet, he climbed in. Despite its haggard exterior, the mysterious boy kept the inside of the vehicle comparatively clean and neat.

“Damn, Magnolia Trace? Swanky,” he commented once he was also seated. Akaashi wasn’t comforted by the car’s lack of seatbelts, but didn’t bother saying as much as the other boy started up the engine.

As the auto-lock on the doors initiated, it occurred for the first time to Akaashi that he was missing a crucial piece of information.

“Sorry, but I don’t think I caught your name.”

The driver glanced over at him in the passenger seat as they turned onto the main road, and for some reason, Akaashi had to glance away to hide the heat threatening to redden his cheeks.

“Yeah, that’s ‘cause I didn’t throw it.”

When Akaashi didn’t laugh, he continued as if nothing had happened. “Name’s Kuroo. I’d ask for yours, but I kinda like the ones I’ve already come up with for you,” he responded, turning on his blinker with an elegant flick of his fingers.

Akaashi’s face was definitely warm. He decided against pressing for an explanation into that comment.

“Akaashi,” he said. Words were hard.

Words became exponentially more difficult when the stranger, Kuroo, spoke again.

“Akaashi, huh? I like that. It fits in my mouth nicely, don’t you think, _Akaashi_?”

God damn it. How in the hell was he supposed to respond to something like that? He wanted to ask to crack a window.

After too long, he collected his thoughts enough to say something half-way intelligent. “I’ve always thought the syllables are a bit harsh, personally.”

Kuroo’s lips quirked at the corner, but he didn’t look over. This, however, allotted Akaashi another chance to look him over.

It wasn’t fair, really.

Long legs clad in tight jeans ripped at the knees stretched out before Kuroo, clunky black boots pressing the break pedal to bring the hunk-a-junk car to a halt at the stop sign. His carefully spiked black hair nearly grazed the ceiling of the vehicle when he turned his head. Unfortunately, it was too dark to make out the patches littering the boy’s jacket, as curious as Akaashi was.

With those looks and that attitude, all suave and covered in leather and denim, Akaashi was left with the distinct impression _something_ was bound to happen involving this Kuroo person, but what, exactly, eluded him.

As he was left beginning to imagine what exactly he’d _want_ to happen, Akaashi realized…. They were on the wrong road.

_“Fuck. Am I about to become a statistic? I thought serial killers were ugly and manipulative. Kuroo is…. Not that.”_

…

_“Maybe he’s taking me somewhere private, so we won’t be disturbed.”_

As far as Akaashi was concerned there were only two viable possibilities: he was either going to be murdered, or they were going to fuck in the backseat. Either way, he wanted to be prepared.

“Is there any particular reason for this detour? If you aren’t sure where to go, I can direct you,” Akaashi inquired, keeping his eyes glued out of the passenger side window to avoid having his brain re-scrambled by the gorgeous boy beside him.

Kuroo peeked over at him and shrugged smoothly, replying, “Nah, just thought we’d take the scenic route.”

Akaashi didn’t bother pointing out that there wasn’t much scenery in the small suburbs, and, even if there was, it was too dark out to see anything anyway. Still, he felt assured he was about to be murdered, at least.

“Sooo, Akaashi. What school do you go to?” Kuroo inquired, flipping on the radio and turning down the volume for some ambient noise.

If he’d been drinking something, Akaashi was sure he would’ve spat it all over the windshield when _I Want Your Sex_ by George Michael hummed through the speakers of the Tercel. God, he felt like he was fourteen again. Why couldn’t he get his mind out of the gutter?

“I-I um, go to, uh. The um. The school,” he answered intelligently. He considered throwing himself out of the car, but sadly, they weren’t travelling fast enough for the instantaneous death he longed for. He kept his eyes glued out the window, hoping the darkness kept the driver from noticing the deep red invading his face.

“Is something the matter?”  
Akaashi didn’t even have to look over; he could hear the smirk in Kuroo’s voice. Generally, these over-confident types pissed him off, but something about the unique breed of arrogant asshole that was Kuroo was working magic.

“Not at all, what’d give you that idea?” Akaashi forced out, his hands clenching. He heard Kuroo snort.

“Oh nothing, just your death grip on your knees made me think maybe the music was rubbing you the wrong way,” the driver responded, doing a rolling stop at the hexagonal red sign before continuing.

_“The problem is that it’s rubbing me the_ right _way.”_ Since Kuroo was a smoker, maybe he had a lighter Akaashi could borrow to set himself on fire with.

Akaashi manually squeezed a breath in through his nose and back out, and repressed a sigh of relief when Kuroo rolled down the driver-side window.

“Pine Oaks High. That’s um, where I go.”

He forced his eyes to the side, watching for Kuroo’s reaction. The leather-clad boy just nodded, sneaking a hand into the pocket of his jacket and removing his pack of cigarettes. After packing them against the steering wheel, he used his thumb to flip open the container and grabbed one between his lips. Discarding the pack on the center consul, Kuroo grabbed a bright green lighter from one of cupholders and lit the end of his cigarette. Akaashi just watched in distant curiosity at how adeptly the other boy moved, like every motion was second-nature. He thought he might faint as Kuroo’s lips tightened around the cigarette and he inhaled deeply, not bothering to use his free hand resting out the window. Akaashi felt light-headed as Kuroo’s tongue peeked out to move the cig to the corner of his mouth, allowing him to talk.

“Crazy coincidence! I go there too. Well, I mean, I’m _supposed_ to go there, but you won’t catch me in that hellhole more than three days a week. I’m a senior for God’s sake, the fuck do I need trig for? My tax returns? Nah,” Kuroo answered at last, taking another drag.

“Besides,” he continued, “I like studying biology a lot better.” Cue sexy grin, and Akaashi’s stomach dropping through the floor and onto the street.

“Oh, I’m being so rude. You want?” Kuroo added, removing the cigarette from his teeth and offering it to Akaashi.

Akaashi had screwed around enough in his earlier teens that he knew some nicotine would either calm him enough for him to able to hold a proper conversation, or he’d end up vomiting out the window. Taking the gamble, he silently grabbed the cigarette from the driver’s warm fingers and gave a quick suck into his lungs. He coughed a little, but his posture relaxed significantly, and he took a longer drag before handing the last nub over.

“Man, you handled that like a pro. I wouldn’t have pegged you as the smoking type,” Kuroo commented, finishing the last drag before flicking the stub out the window.

“I’ve been told I’m a bit of a dichotomy,” Akaashi told him, minutely smoothing down the side of his hair. He nearly sobbed with relief when he saw they were turning into his neighborhood development.

“It’s two rights then a left. Second house on the left, the green two-story,” he said eagerly, the nicotine fading from his system.

Nicotine…. That cigarette. It had been in Kuroo’s mouth, too. He had felt the leftover saliva around it.

It was the closest thing Akaashi had had to a kiss in ages, and he closed his eyes tightly at the thought.

Kuroo followed his instructions until he pulled up alongside the correct house, cutting his lights, which told Akaashi he was a pro at sneaking to and fro.

“Well, here we are. Any parting words to your savior?” Kuroo drawled, bracing his forearm against the steering wheel and turning his torso to face his passenger.

_“How to politely say ‘I want you to drag me into the back of this ugly-ass car and make sure I never forget the night I met you’?”_

Akaashi opened his door and stepped out, shrugging on his backpack.

“Thanks for the ride. See you around, I guess.” He begged his expression to remain neutral as he shut the door behind him and headed up the driveway.

He glanced back and saw that Kuroo looked disappointed for just a second before nodding once, slightly.

Akaashi barely heard the reply, but it’d warm him in the nippy autumn night.

“I’ll give you a ride anytime. Remember though, nothing’s free, gorgeous. You’ll definitely see me around.”

Nothing followed but the sound of Kuroo driving off and the rush of blood in Akaashi’s ears.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO i'm sorry this update took longer than i expected, life has been hella chaotic lately for obvious reasons, plus i've been doing a shit ton of research for this fic to keep things historically accurate. this chapter is a little shorter than the first one but things are definitely starting to pick up ;) anyway, i hope you enjoy!

Chapter 2

Akaashi

“Keiji, where on earth have you been!” His mother’s voice came to him as if through water.

“Do you have any idea what time it is? I was about to call the police!” she continued, and he suppressed a sigh.

It was 9:02pm, to be precise, approximately four hours later than he usually got home. He supposed some of her panic was warranted, but that didn’t make it any less irksome.

“Sorry, I tried to call. I was at the library,” Akaashi replied, slipping off his Nike Blazers at the heels and pushing his sock-sheathed feet into the awaiting slides. He wasn’t emotionally equipped to handle his mother’s shrillness; what he really wanted was a long, hot shower and a deep night’s sleep.

Instead, he got a lecture.

“Oh, you were at the library for _four hours_? Doing what, pray tell? Just you wait until your father gets ho—Wait a minute. Wait a _damn minute_. Now I just KNOW I do not smell CIGARETTE SMOKE on you.” His mom’s tirade came to a screeching halt as she marched up close to her son, her expression screwed up in rage. Her face scrunched even further when she grabbed the front of his sweater and yanked it towards her nose, giving it an angry, short sniff.

Akaashi grimaced, bracing for the hour-long verbal beating he was in for.

“KEIJI! I cannot believe you! Your father and I raised you better than this, I can’t believe you’d go on and _poison_ your body with that-that _filth_! It doesn’t make you cool, mister, it makes you a dumbass. To think my own son….” She trailed off there, bringing the back of her hand up to her nose to muffle the sound of her sniffling.

 _“Oh great. Here come the waterworks,”_ Akaashi groaned inwardly.

Just then, headlights danced along the back wall of the punctiliously decorated living room, followed by the sound of a car engine being killed.

For the first time in a long, _long_ time, Akaashi was happy his dad was home.

“Really, I’m sorry, Mom. I lost track of time and had no quarters to call and got a ride from someone I ran into at the library. His car smelled like smoke, that’s why it’s on my clothes, must’ve been his dad’s or something. And no worries, he goes I my school, so I was safe and everything. Okay bye.” Akaashi covered all his bases as quickly as possible before darting through the house and up the stairs, making use of the distraction afforded to him by his father’s arrival. He clicked his bedroom door shut just as he heard his dad fling the front door open, and Akaashi breathed a sigh of relief.

Surely, there were more things for his mother to be angry with his father over than with him. Twisted as it may sound, so long as his parents left him alone, he had come to tolerate their marital issues. In their household, nothing was ever discussed openly; passive-aggression or outright denial was the foremost strategy for handling problems.

After lugging his stuffed backpack off his shoulder, Akaashi sat heavily on his bed, pulling off his glasses and massaging his eyes.

He should probably do his homework before showering, in case he got too sleepy afterwards to do it. Then again, it was only nine, and even if he took a long shower, he’d be done at 9:30 at the latest. That left him plenty of time to finish his homework; he had a habit of starting it in class during the lesson to maximize the use of his time.

Now having established a plan, Akaashi stood and made his way over to the en suite bathroom. As the only child, he’d been granted domain over the upstairs bonus room once he turned fourteen, and subsequently transformed the space into his safe haven.

The bathroom was kept tidy, and he fetched a towel from the linen closet before stepping into the small shower stall momentarily to switch on the water. Akaashi liked his showers just shy of scorching, as it relaxed his body and lulled his mind into a state of calm he was rarely able to visit. Convinced it had heated to his satisfaction, he stripped down, leaving his clothes in a small pile off to the side before stepping in and pulling the curtain shut.

Akaashi supposed if he was claustrophobic, he’d hate his shower. With the shower curtain drawn, it was dimly lit, and the walls were a forearm’s length away. Still, he found it rather cozy. Instead of keeping him in, Akaashi liked to muse that the walls kept everything else out.

Quickly lathering his hair with shampoo and rinsing it out, Akaashi considered the companion bottle of conditioner.

He’d always been a little feminine; in fact, in his youth, he’d often been mistaken for a girl, with his wavy locks and soft, beautiful features. He’d had a phase where he had wholly rejected femininity, an agenda supported by his father. As he got older, though, he cared less and less. If he wanted silky, fragrant hair, by God, he’d have it.

Newly determined, Akaashi squeezed a dollar-coin sized dollop of conditioner into his palm and worked it into his hair. The dry weather left his hair flatter than usual, but he didn’t mind much so long as it wasn’t dry.

After scrubbing his body with the fraying washcloth he’d been issued ( _“the nice washcloths are for visitors, Keiji!”_ ), he contemplated his next move. He supposed this would normally be where his shower came to a close, but the relaxing water pressure, a perk of having the upstairs bathroom close to the water tank, had him stalling for time.

_“The conditioner hasn’t set long enough; I’d better hold off on rinsing it out yet.”_

Akaashi knew damn well he was making up excuses, but he let himself off the hook, just this once.

With the uninterrupted time alone with his thoughts, he reviewed his day, mulling things over.

In English, he’d finished the reading analysis questions early, and had used the extra time to look over his statistics work one last time before his quiz. Most days were a blur, the monotony broken up only occasionally when he learned something particularly exciting in art history, or when one of his classmates made an almost-funny remark.

Lunch usually was a nice break, and today a small, fiery-haired first year had caused a scene in the lunch line when he spilled apple sauce everywhere and apologized so many times that someone had yelled at him to shut up.

After eating, Akaashi always grew sluggish, wanting nothing more than to take a nap. Instead, he forced himself to take diligent notes to keep himself awake amid the droning lectures and his idiotic peers.

Eventually, the school day had dragged to a close, and he’d gone off on his misadventure to the library.

And that’s when things got interesting.

Kuroo…. Kuroo with the leather and the eyeliner and those _legs_ ….

The more details he remembered about the older boy, the hotter Akaashi’s body grew, and it didn’t have to do with the water temperature.

That devious smirk, those haughty eyes cutting right through him…. Akaashi swallowed hard against the lightheadedness as his blood surged throughout him.

And that damn song just _had_ to come on the radio! The thought of the song brought the image of Kuroo’s slender, elegant fingers curled loosely around his steering wheel to Akaashi’s mind, and he shut his eyes tight half to savor the image, half to ignore the evidence of how Kuroo made him feel as his stomach dropped.

He knew he was standing in the shower, freshly scrubbed, but Akaashi felt unbelievably dirty as his imagination fought against his self-restraint for control of his mind.

 _“It’s not right of me to think of someone this way; he’s a real person with real feelings,”_ he chided himself, guilt pooling in his gut along with an undeniable urge he refused to name.

Another, more commanding voice inside him whispered, _“It’s not like he’d ever find out. No harm no foul, right?”_

Akaashi spared another minute pondering the morality of his dilemma before succumbing to his humanity, wrapping a hesitant hand around himself before sighing heavily and loosening the tight leash he kept on his desires.

_“Kuroo’s hands, his fingers, those legs, that fucking smirk and all the room in the backseat of his car—”_

Maybe it was because it had been a little while since he had indulged himself, but Akaashi was embarrassed by how quickly release found him at the thought of Kuroo. Kuroo hovering over him, gripping him and grabbing him, considering if that teasing tone translated into other things, how he sounded, what the hell he could’ve meant by that, _“you’ll definitely see me around”_....

Akaashi needed a goddamn cigarette.

Clean, dry, and satisfied, Akaashi concluded he’d have time to do his homework in the morning.

~

Turns out, that was not the case. Evidently tired out from the events of the day before, Akaashi slept through his alarm and barely woke up with enough time to get ready and get to school on time.

He arrived at English class winded and squinting down at the worksheet on his desk, having forgotten his glasses in the rush. He preferred to go without them anyway, but his tired eyes weren’t exactly overjoyed at the moment.

His teacher quietly inquired if he was alright, and Akaashi gave his standard reply: “Yes, I’m just tired. Thank you, though.”

Not wanting to strain his eyes too much, Akaashi allowed himself to relax, zoning out a bit. He was ahead of most of his classmates with the reading, anyway; he could afford a little break.

All his spare thoughts seemed to stray to Kuroo. He had mentioned going to the same school…. What if they ran into each other? What would Akaashi say? Would Kuroo even acknowledge him? All the possibilities were making his head spin.

Sooner than he anticipated, the bell rang, and Akaashi quickly gathered his things before heading to biology class. He cursed inwardly when he remembered they were doing a lab that day; it was a college-level class, so the demands were different. Generally for labs, loose clothing was frowned upon, and proper footwear was important.

Akaashi looked down at his baggy sweater, navy blue and covered in yellow obtuse triangles. Paired with the black sweatpants he sported, clinging to his ankles with elastic, he might’ve been able to pull it off, were it not for his footwear. The beat-up boat shoes he had shoved his Nike-sock-sheathed feet into made him he feared he wouldn’t be allowed to participate.

Sliding into his desk, Akaashi took out the packet he’d need for the paperwork portion of the lab. He glanced over his shoulder towards the back of the classroom and tightened his lips slightly upon noting the microscopes and specimen dye distributed to each lab group.

He stood, approaching the teacher just as the bell rang. She looked him up and down, raised her eyebrows at his less-than-flattering attire, before nodding once.

“Just this once you’re off the hook,” Mrs. Santhen told him, and Akaashi gave her a small, appreciative smile.

“Thank you, it won’t happen again.”

He quickly made his way back to his seat and paid especially close attention as the lab was explained, then hurried to the back when the students were dismissed to begin.

Akaashi wasn’t popular, not by a long shot, but he’d picked up a few school friends here and there. One of them he’d met in this class, and was currently studying Akaashi closely.

“You don’t look too good.”

Akaashi blinked once, hard, before replying.

“You should tie your hair back before Mrs. Santhen says something.”

Kenma made a face at the prospect. Instead of arguing, he pretended as if he hadn’t heard Akaashi, and instead turned his attention to the slide covers, carefully peeling them off each other.

Kenma wasn’t a man of very many words, and Akaashi thought that was probably why they got along. They worked efficiently, usually finishing before the other lab groups despite having the least members.

This instance was no different, and there were a solid ten minutes at the end of class to spare. Packet not due until Monday, Akaashi and Kenma were left standing around without much to discuss.

“So. That stock market crash this week, pretty crazy shit,” Kenma commented, and Akaashi nodded his agreement.

“Yeah, my dad’s been working like crazy. Reagan’s a bit of a dickwad for how he’s down-playing it,” he responded, sitting down on one of the uncomfortable stools near the lab table.

At that moment, a knock is heard at the door, a smart rap of knuckles against the grained wood. The hum of talking amongst the students kept Mrs. Santhen from hearing the knock, and Kenma let out a small irritated groan.

Akaashi distantly wondered why whoever it was bothered to knock, seeing as the door was unlocked, but he concluded they were probably just being polite.

“He better not,” Kenma muttered, and a moment later, the door flew open.

“He did,” Kenma sighed, standing to greet the tall, leather-clad, black-haired—

Akaashi stood so fast that his stool clattered to the floor, and he cringed as his face heated rapidly. He’d been rendered a clumsy, blushing messy in .2 seconds flat.

Refusing to meet the eyes he felt gazing his way, Akaashi mumbled an apology and set his stool upright. When he looked up, though, a dark figure was already in his path.

“Well, well, well, what a coincidence,” Kuroo said, the gleam in his eye suggesting their meeting was anything but.

“Ignore him, Akaashi. The more you humor him, the longer it takes for him to go away,” Kenma instructed, crossing his sleeve-drenched arms.

“I wasn’t aware you two knew each other,” Akaashi forced out, looking anywhere but at Kuroo’s face.

Kuroo seemed to be aware of, and possibly reveling in, his avoidance, and drew closer before answering, “Oh yeah, Kenma n’ I go waaaay back. _I_ didn’t know _you guys_ knew each other. Crazy little world we live in.”

Kenma made a small _tch_ noise at that, but didn’t say anything more.

“Can I help you?” Mrs. Santhen asked sternly, appeared from thin air.

Akaashi had never been more grateful a day in his life.

“Oh, I just thought I’d drop by. Thanks for having me, I just had some business to attend to. I’ll be on my way now,” Kuroo replied smoothly, making his way towards the door. He shot Akaashi a wink before exiting, and Akaashi wanted to shrivel up and die.

“You poor soul,” Kenma told him.

The bell rang, and Akaashi had just enough time to ask, “What do you mean?”

Kenma shot him a piteous look.  
“He’s got his eye on you. Good luck, you’ll need it.”

Akaashi turned away quickly to mask his embarrassed expression, gripping his backpack straps tightly.

The rest of the day went by quickly, and the weekend brought about fresh bouts of arguments between his parents. Akaashi tuned them out with his Walkman, burying himself in reading to block out any excess noise or thoughts of an eyeliner-wearing punk. The following week passed in an eerily smooth fashion. Akaashi was itching to interrogate Kenma about Kuroo, but he dared not show interest.

Besides, he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the older boy since his Friday intrusion. By Wednesday, Akaashi had accepted his situation. Kuroo’s seeming interest had been a fluke. It meant nothing, and Akaashi couldn’t continue his pitiful pining at the risk of developing a real attachment. As exciting as it had been for a second there, he had to accept nothing would ever come of it; he was destined for monotony.

When Friday once again rolled around and a yellow StickyNote appeared on Akaashi’s locker, he barely paid it a second thought.

 _LAKE AVENUE WOODS. TONIGHT, 9:30. WEAR SOMETHING HOT_ _._

Chalking it up to a mistake, Akaashi crumpled the note in his fist and shoved it deep into the pocket of his acid wash Levi’s.

Exhausted from a long week, Akaashi collapsed onto the couch in the living room, flipping on MTV for background noise as he rested his eyes. It was a rare moment of peace, during which his mother was at a friend’s house and his father was at work.

Before he knew it, Akaashi had fully dozed off, waking only when his mom arrived home, bearing a plate of tinfoiled leftovers. He politely declined the offer before announcing he was going to call it an early night, unceremoniously heading upstairs.

He didn’t even bother undressing as he curled up on top of his duvet, sleep already sinking its claws back into him.

“KEIJIII, YOU HAVE A VISITOOOR!” his mother’s shrill voice called, and Akaashi clenched his jaw as he was startled out of rest. Fumbling for his glasses, he forced himself out of bed.

“Can’t even get some decent fuckin sleep,” he grumbled to himself, shoving his glasses on as he suppressed a yawn.

“—beautiful home,” a silky voice commented.

Akaashi froze in place on the last step, eyes wide, heart pounding.

No. No, it couldn’t be. Not _here_ , not _at his house_ —

“I hope it isn’t too much of an intrusion, your poor son has just seemed so stressed lately, I thought a movie would do him some good,” none other than Kuroo said, charming the socks off Akaashi’s unsuspecting mother.

Akaashi forced himself forward if for no other reason than he’d be damned if his _mom_ got more time with Kuroo than he did.

“Oh, here he comes! Keiji, you never told me about your friend Tetsurou here,” his mother beamed.

If you had told Akaashi a week ago that a makeup-wearing, leather-covered boy would be someone Mrs. Akaashi would allow within 400 feet of her home, he’d have laughed in your face.

But a week ago, Akaashi didn’t know Kuroo.

“We only met recently,” Akaashi muttered, pulling on his Chucky T’s. Kuroo had backed him into a corner by coming up with a convincing lie, and at this point, his mother would force him to go whether he wanted to or not.

Not that he didn’t want to go with Kuroo.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of him,” Kuroo told Akaashi’s mother, swinging an arm around Akaashi’s shoulders and pulling him close.

Akaashi quickly tugged him through the front door and slammed it behind them.

Shrugging the arm off him and masking his embarassment, Akaashi demanded, “What the hell is this.”

Kuroo cocked his head to the side. “Well, I _tried_ to leave you a sweet handwritten note, but that didn’t seem to go very well, so I figured I’d have to get a little more creative with cashing in my favor,” he explained, guiding Akaashi over to the ugly-ass Tercel.

He opened the door for him, but Akaashi just looked at him skeptically.

“Aw c’mon, don’t be like that. This has taken a lot of effort on my part! I even made sure not to smoke so your parents would like me,” Kuroo whined.

Judgmental silence.

“Still not convinced? Man, you’re one tough cookie. Look, I’m not a creep, okay? If you really don’t wanna go with me, I won’t force you. All I’m saying is you owe me, and I’ve come up with something I think you’ll like for you to make it up to me.” Kuroo kept the passenger door open as he hung on it, his gaze focused on Akaashi’s face.

If it was anyone else, Akaashi would've walked right back into the house. But it wasn’t. It was Kuroo, but it wasn’t just that. Kuroo served as the gatekeeper of the adventure Akaashi longed so deeply for. He knew it, he knew it deep down in his heart of hearts.

This call of fate, paired with Kuroo’s unparalleled sex appeal, forced Akaashi to sigh heavily and slide himself into the passenger seat.

“You better know what you’re doing.”

Kuroo outright grinned at him as he closed the door and went around to the driver's side, sitting and starting the engine in one smooth motion.

“Trust me, doll face. You’re in for a treat,” he assured, then threw the Toyota into reverse and launched the two boys towards their destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a BIG thank you to everyone that left comments/kudos on ch1, it was such a boost and im so grateful to anyone who even considers reading this fic


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a bit longer, hopefully you guys enjoy it! thank you again for all your lovely comments

Chapter 3

Akaashi

They’d been driving for seven minutes, and Akaashi still hadn’t mustered the courage to ask where they were going. He wished desperately he could remember what the stupid Sticky Note on his locker had said, but he’d barely glanced at it before discarding it.

Like last time, the radio mumbled the Billboard Top 40 as they cruised along, and Kuroo puffed on a cigarette with the window a fourth of the way down. He didn’t attempt to make conversation either, thought he’d occasionally hum along to a song that came on.

Akaashi wanted to comment that pop songs didn’t exactly match his bad boy image, but every time he tried to talk, his mind’s eye would be bombarded with all the indecent thoughts he’d had about the boy in the driver’s seat besides him. The shame of it glued his lips together, and he opted instead to gaze out the window, elbow propped against the sill with his face cupped in his clammy hand.

The longer they drove, the further from the suburbs they travelled, and Akaashi once again was confronted with the question of if he was either going to be murdered in the woods, or have his voice shredded hoarse from crying out Kuroo’s name over and over.

He wasn’t sure which he preferred.

“Now don’t get all twitchy, but we’re takin’ this shindig off-road, alright?” Kuroo warned, startling Akaashi from his daydreaming.

“Off-road?” he repeated incredulously, lacing his fingers tightly as Kuroo jerked the Tercel into a hard right. His head swerved to fix the driver with a _“what the hell is wrong with you?”_ blank stare.

“Hey, hey, none of that! You trust me, don’t you?” Kuroo chided, flipping on his high beams as the wagon forced its way down an unkempt path through the woods. Akaashi wasn’t exactly comforted by the fact that there were parallel tire tracks along the trail they followed, but it at least stopped him from considering jumping out and walking home.

Confronted with that five-worded question, Akaashi sighed heavily. “Trust” wasn’t the easiest emotion to bring up for him, not anymore. Still, something about the slightest strain of nervousness hedging Kuroo’s voice when he asked had Akaashi half-nodding, just once.

Kuroo grinned at that, a full smile that made Akaashi blink a few times at the genuineness of it.

“Almost there,” he said excitedly, and if Akaashi squinted, he could make out the glow of orange light up ahead.

As they drew nearer, it became evident that the source of light was a medium-sized bonfire, surrounded by a circle of cars with their rears towards the fire to make a makeshift seating arrangement.

“What is this,” Akaashi asked, taking count off all the strangers in denim and leather, then glancing down at his own clothing choices. The stark contrast between his acid washed jeans topped by a teal-and-indigo windbreaker and the rest of the boys gathered was enough to have him fidgeting.

He wasn’t one to generalize, but their apparel, paired with the flasks and beer bottles being exchanged and occasional joint being passed around, only conjured one word to his mind: punks. Plain and simple.

And it was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.

“This is my surprise?” Akaashi asked, turning towards Kuroo fully.

“Yup. I wasn’t lying when I told your mom getting out would do you some good, and no one’s better at letting loose than we are,” he replied with a wink, then killed the engine.

“Um, I’m not really sure this is exactly my scene,” Akaashi protested weakly, but Kuroo just ignored him and stepped out of the car, going around to Akaashi’s door and opening it for him.

“And that’s exactly why this’ll be good for you.”

Akaashi bit his lip and peered over at where inquisitive eyes kept glancing over at Kuroo’s Toyota.

“You don’t even really know me, there’s no reason for you to be introducing me to all your friends,” Akaashi continued, looking at his lap and fiddling with his fingers.

Kuroo didn’t reply at first, then took a step closer so that his shins were against the car’s doorframe, leaning his forearm against the roof of the car and resting his forehead against it. Akaashi could feel the intensity of his gaze, but he kept his eyes fixed firmly on his hands.

From the corner of his eye, he sensed motion as Kuroo reached a hand towards him. Akaashi’s heart hammered in his chest as those slender, cool fingers gently gripped his chin, turning his face to where Kuroo was leaning in much too closely.

“I know enough about you to know you’re someone that shouldn’t walk around so miserable, _Keiji_ ,” Kuroo informed him, voice low and silky. The tone was enough to stir heat in Akaashi’s lower abdomen, but the strangely gentle words nearly made his eyes prick with tears.

Kuroo held his gaze a moment longer, the eyeliner bordering his dark eyes making his stare all the more intense. Akaashi was about three seconds away from throwing himself at the older boy and begging him to take him. He wasn’t sure if he should drop to his knees and start bawling or just drop to his knees.

The trance was broken when Kuroo raised his eyebrows twice before releasing Akaashi’s face and stepping back far enough to free him from the vehicle. Akaashi mentally shook himself, sucking a breath deep into his lungs to clear his head before swinging his legs out of the car and stepping out.

Kuroo slung an arm around Akaashi’s shoulders, steering him forward towards everyone else gathered as his face heated, and he pushed up his glasses uncomfortably.

“Ayo! May I have your attention please!” Kuroo called, and all eyes were now unabashedly staring at the mismatched duo.

“This here is the drop-dead _gorgeous_ Mr. Akaashi, whom I found and have decided to take in. Treat him well,” the other boy continued, stepping away and gesturing to Akaashi with a flourish as he spoke. Akaashi wished he could crawl in a hole and die.

There was a chorus of “Hey” and “Sup” but, curiosity now overall sated, everyone went about their business as usual.

Kuroo led Akaashi around the circle, introducing him to everyone individually. Akaashi did his best to remember everyone’s name, but eventually it became a blur of patch-covered denim and eye makeup.

The only person that Akaashi could definitively remember was the fiery-haired boy, and that was mostly because he recognized him from the lunchroom incident a week ago. He was even smaller up close, his bright eyes and excited smile clashing with the spiked shoulder pads of his jacket and the gel attempting to hold his wild hair in a faux-hawk.

“Hi, I’m Hinata! Around here, though, I’m known as Little Red. It kinda pisses me off, but you seem real nice, so I guess I don’t mind if you wanna call me that,” the small boy introduced, shaking Akaashi’s hands with both of his. Akaashi noted the chipped black nail polish adorning the small, almost childlike hands, and fought the urge to call him cute; he figured a punk wouldn’t take very kindly to being accused of being adorable.

The only other people that managed to stick in Akaashi’s short-circuiting brain were two boys his age. One was also shorter in stature, but certainly unforgettable.

The one everyone called Noya had a head covered in liberty spikes and wore red jeans, a studded belt slung around his hips, and combat boots that added a solid three inches to his height. He liked to stand on things and make bold proclamations, usually pertaining to androgyny still being manly, or how he wanted to bang Freddie Mercury.

Someone quietly reminded him of the news earlier that year of Freddie’s diagnosis, and Noya awkwardly clambered down from the roof of the Chevy truck he had climbed atop of. 

The other boy his age Akaashi could remember was Tanaka, Noya’s best friend. It was mostly because of his mohawk and the fact he wore nothing but a jean vest covered in patches as a top. When the two boys paired up, Akaashi felt a migraine coming on from the sheer volume level.

At last, everyone settled down, like dogs excited when someone new came to visit.

Kuroo sat beside Akaashi on one of the folding chairs he had brought along, casually chain smoking while keeping Akaashi informed on all the goings-on of the group. This information was conveyed by Kuroo via leaning in close and explaining dynamics in a low voice that had Akaashi glad it was dark, and his jacket was bulky.

“That over there’s Tadashi Yamaguchi. Isn’t he just cute as a button?” Kuroo said, tilting his chin across the circle to the leather-covered boy sitting and giggling with Hinata. Similar to Kuroo, he wore dark eyeliner, though his jacket had significantly less patches. His nose crinkled when he laughed, and freckles powdered his face like sprinkles on a cupcake.

All of this combined had Akaashi befuddled as to what someone like him was doing in a place like this, and he nodded his agreement with Kuroo’s button assertion.

“Yeah, well, watch this. Hey Yams, do the thing!” Kuroo told him, calling to the young boy across the circle.

Kuroo reached into the cooler beside him and pulled out a can of Coors before tossing it to Yamaguchi, who caught it against his chest. Akaashi’s eyes widened slightly as that angelic face morphed into something devious.

Everyone turned their attention to the freckled boy and began egging him on. Yamaguchi grinned devilishly before producing a pocketknife from God knows where and puncturing a hole near the bottom of the can. He quickly pressed his lips to the opening and stood before popping the tab at the top, being met with riotous applause and wild cheering as he chugged the beverage in one go.

Noya took a running leap onto the taller boy’s back, nearly knocking him over were it not for Hinata providing a counterbalance by embracing Yamaguchi tightly.

Akaashi blinked quickly in shock.

“Kids these days,” he commented, and Kuroo chuckled.

“He’s only a year younger than you,” he reminded him, passing a cigarette to Akaashi, who accepted.

“Still…,” Akaashi grumbled, leaning over as Kuroo produced a nondescript Zippo lighter from his pocket and offered a light.

Taking a puff, Akaashi watched Kuroo closely.

He really was unbelievably attractive.

The firelight of the bonfire played sensually off him, adding sharper edges to his facial features. When he smirked at Akaashi, it seemed all the more suggestive, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away this time.

“Are you having fun?” Kuroo asked, blowing out a smoke ring with well-practiced ease.

“Yes.”

The admission surprised Akaashi probably more than it surprised Kuroo, whose eyes had gained a triumphant gleam.

He was. He really was having fun, for the first time in a long time. He hadn’t enjoyed himself around other people since….

No. He wouldn’t let the memory of someone else poison the here and now.

The here and now in which he sat so close to the irresistible boy next to him that their arms touched, that if he uncrossed his legs, their thighs would be pressed against each other, in which said boy was looking at him in a way that made him think maybe, just maybe, the feeling of barely-contained desire was mutual.

Kuroo looked away first, but glanced back for just a nanosecond, affirming for Akaashi that they had unfinished business. The black-clad boy stood in one fluid motion and approached another boy Akaashi didn’t remember having been introduced to.

Someone’s car radio played faintly, so Akaashi had to strain his ears, but managed to catch what had stolen Kuroo’s attention away from him.

“Hey, ‘tsumu. You seen Bo yet? He said he’d come tonight,” Kuroo inquired.

The other boy gripped his shoulder tightly and replied, “Are you a lesbian?”, before breaking into a fit of laughter, leaning forward and gripping his stomach as he cackled.

Evidentially, the bottle-blond was high as shit.

Kuroo just grinned and shook his head in amusement. He seemed about to ask someone else about the whereabouts of this “Bo” person, and it was then that Akaashi noticed the distant sound of a car radio blasting _Love Kills_ by Circle Jerks.

He stood to greet the commotion, and moments later, a CJ-5 Jeep came racing through the woods, swerving to a stop. The driver popped his head up, belting the lyrics.

“LOOOOVE KILLS, IT HURTS ME TO SEE YOU THIS WAAY-AY-AAY!” he screamed, cackling, then plopped back down into the seat and abruptly killed the engine.

Akaashi observed as he jogged over to Kuroo and planted a fat kiss on his cheek, while Kuroo made a disgusted noise and shoved him away.

“There you are, you dumb fuck!” Kuroo greeted him. “Akaashi! This is Koutarou Bokuto, my stupid-ass best friend,” he added, but the voice Akaashi had grown acquainted with was far away.

His eyes had been rendered physically incapable of tearing themselves away from Koutarou Bokuto.

Similar to Kuroo, he sported tight jeans, boots, and a patch-covered jacket, though he had an additional unbuttoned grey flannel as extra layer in the chilly night air. His ash-black hair had been streaked with white and styled into two spikes on either side of his head, straight up and fissured along a middle part.

Distantly, he was aware Bokuto was scolding Kuroo for his name-calling, playfully punching the latter in the ribs and laughing boisterously at something he said.

Akaashi wasn’t thinking about that, though.

Instead, his mind was held up on the idea that this person was a star.

No, not a star.

In the sky full of stars, even when the moon shone her brightest, he was Venus, the companion planet to the moon that was even more loyal to the earth. Even when the moon grew shy and hid her face from Earth, Venus was an ever-present companion, twinkling kindly and constantly. When the sky was dark and longing for the moon’s light, Venus was always there, never varying, never wavering. Not once did Earth doubt Venus’s presence, nor did Venus give Earth a reason to. Their companionship was one of comfort, built on knowing they were together eternal.

Looking at Bokuto, Akaashi was hit with the most poignant mix of emotions he’d ever experienced. Bokuto was summer nights spent stargazing and the drop in one’s stomach when the rollercoaster surged forward. He was fireworks and whisky that burned the throat and the sweet cola chaser afterwards. He was bright, so unimaginably bright, so vibrant and all-consuming Akaashi feared he’d cry. He was Pop Rocks and excited whispers into the wee hours, he was tight hugs and deep kisses and maraschino cherries on top of banana shakes with those stupid sharing straws. He was rough waves crashing on the shore, so powerful but soothing.

In short, Bokuto was the deep, deep breath of fresh air Akaashi was going to die of asphyxiation without.

And then he opened his massive, obnoxious fucking mouth.

“AKGHAASHI? I know you! You dated Konoha! Man, you sure fucked him over, not gonna lie. But I mean hey, I’m sure you’ve changed,” Bokuto greeted, approaching and clapping Akaashi hard on the back.

Fresh air or not, Akaashi deflated like a balloon. Lungs having been punctured, air wouldn’t do any good anyhow.

“Yes. I’ve changed.”

Akaashi turned away coldly and thrusted his hand into the cooler beside Kuroo’s folding chair, cracking open a Coors of his own.

_“Changed for the absolute worst.”_

Bokuto gave him a curious look, cocking his head to the side like a little kid.

“Man, my bad. I should’ve realized it’s probably a sore subject,” he apologized, but Akaashi’s blank stare didn’t let up even at the hopeful smile cast his way.

Still, he wasn’t going to make a scene, and eyes were starting to look their way.

Sighing tightly, Akaashi drank deeply from his can before roughly wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his windbreaker.

“It’s fine. You had no way of knowing,” he told him before abruptly walking over to where Kuroo was force-feeding the bottle-blond some water.

If he noticed the beer in Akaashi’s hand, he didn’t say anything, and instead apologized.

“Sorry about that. Bokuto’s a great guy, he really is. He just doesn’t think sometimes.”

Akaashi set his jaw before gulping down the rest of his beverage and responding, “Don’t worry about it. I’m long passed giving a shit about what someone associated with Konoha does.”

He pretended saying his name out loud didn’t fill his chest with enough cement to drag him to the bottom of the ocean.

“Want another?” Kuroo inquired, but Akaashi shook his head. It’d take more than two beers for him to feel the effects of the alcohol anyway, and he wasn’t much a fan of drinking in public.

He’d prefer a cigarette, but he’d feel rude asking, and instead shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets while Kuroo fetched a drink for himself.

_“Fuck you. Fuck you for taking something from me, yet again.”_

As fiery as his words were, Akaashi knew he didn’t mean them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAA IM SO GLAD I GOT THIS DONE IN TIME FOR BOKUAKA DAY


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello lovelies! this chapter is kiiiind of a filler chapter but is hella indulgent lmao but i just wanted to thank you all for reading!

Chapter 4

Akaashi

It was approaching the two-hour mark since he and Kuroo had arrived at the bonfire, and Akaashi was reaching the threshold of his social battery. He’d been standing off to the side, watching everyone wordlessly and taking meager sips of his beer that had long since grown warm in his hand. Kuroo seemed to have gathered Akaashi wanted to be left alone without having to be told, and for that, he was eternally grateful.

He hated feeling like such a killjoy, but any mention of Konoha had a sobering effect on him; it was only because of his deeply ingrained manners that Akaashi didn’t ask to leave early. Usually, he’d sit in the dark of his room, crack a window, and chain smoke ‘til he got sick from all the nicotine then go to sleep with a damp pillow. He wasn’t a habitual smoker, but in light of everything, it was probably the least destructive coping mechanism he’d turned to.

Still, though, he had to agree with Kuroo that the change of pace wasn’t a bad thing. Even getting out of the house felt refreshing, and, despite the uniqueness of the group, Akaashi found himself relatively at ease. It took actual effort to keep a small smile off his lips whenever Hinata would grow animated and launch into onomatopoetic storytelling.

The more time passed, the more evident it became that Kuroo was inebriated. Akaashi had watched him grow progressively less coherent. It wasn’t that Kuroo couldn’t hold his alcohol; Akaashi was just tuned into Kuroo especially and noticed when his laugh got louder, and when his steps grew lazier.

Distantly, Akaashi was aware he’d have to find another ride home, but the thought got swallowed up in the rest of his inner monologue. Konoha had that all-consuming effect on him even still, it seemed.

It wasn’t until Kuroo approached him, grinning widely with an arm around Bokuto’s waist, that Akaashi caught on to what his travelling arrangement would be.

“No.” He made the statement before the proposition was even brought forward.

“C’mon sweet cheeks, don’t be like that. Bo’s never been the best at first impressions, so cut him some slack, huh? I can’t drive, ‘n I wouldn’t trust any of these other fuck-asses with my precious cargo,” Kuroo pleaded, releasing Bokuto to move closer to Akaashi.

Maybe it was the flattery, or possibly the three beers sloshing around his mostly empty stomach, but Akaashi’s face flared hotter than the bonfire and he nodded like a bobblehead.

He pushed up his glasses in an effort to hide his crimson cheeks and inquired, “How will you get home safely? What about your car?”

Kuroo leaned his face against Akaashi’s hair and laced his fingers on his shoulder, cooing.

“You’re so thoughtful, angel. _Yeahhh_ , like a guardian angel. But don’t worry about me, I’ll just get one of the youngins to drive me and Betty back, we do it all the time,” he told him, close enough that Akaashi could smell the cigarettes and alcohol and cologne on his clothes.

“Yeah! Don’t worry, Akaashi, he’s in good hands,” Bokuto chimed in, giving a reassuring smile that only succeeded in pissing Akaashi off.

_“As if the words of someone that’s friends with Konoha carry any weight with me,”_ he thought darkly, but, not seeing any other choice, let out a heavy sigh.

“Fine. Let’s just go,” he agreed, gently prying Kuroo off him.

Kuroo let out a melancholy sigh of his own.

“See ya, gorgeous. I hope you had a good time,” he told him, and Akaashi found a small smile just for him.

Not sure whether to be kind or to be honest, he settled on replying, “Thank you for bringing me,” before heading over to where Bokuto was waiting a few paces away.

“Ready to get going?” the older boy inquired, and Akaashi nodded mutely, following him to the Jeep.

“You haven’t had anything?” Akaashi double-checked, apprehensively sliding into the passenger seat and internalizing a sigh of relief at the sight of functional seatbelts.

Bokuto shooed off the question as if it was an insect.

“Nah, I only like stuff every now n’ then. Doing it all the time just gets boring after a while,” he explained, turning the keys in the ignition. As the vehicle roared to life, Akaashi noted a small figurine hanging from the rearview mirror, but in the dark, he couldn’t quite make out what it was.

“Oh that? Kuroo gave me that. There’s kinda this dumb inside joke in the group that he’s…. Mmm, nevermind,” Bokuto shared, then stopped, seeming to change his mind.

Akaashi frowned at the driver as he turned them around in a poorly executed three-point turn that ended up being more decahedron-shaped than checkmark-shaped.

“Now I’m curious,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. He knew he must’ve looked like a petulant child, but there was just enough alcohol in his system that it didn’t matter to him.

Bokuto let out a full, trumpet-like laugh as they headed down the dirt pathway, and some of Akaashi’s grumpiness melted away. Overly invasive or not, he did have a nice laugh.

“Alright, alright, I’ll tell you. There’s a ‘no pouting’ rule when I’m the driver! Basically, there’s this joke that Kuroo’s the black cat, and I’m the horned owl. So we traded these dumb little figure thingies. I have a black cat one for him on my rearview, and he’s got a little grey owl that he keeps on his dresser for me. It’s stupid, but we got them a few years ago and I’m just used to mine being there now,” Bokuto shared, tapping a little beat on the steering wheel while he spoke.

Akaashi uncrossed his arms and sat up a little from where he’d slumped in his seat.

“The two of you seem close,” he commented, hoping the asinine jealousy he felt didn’t color his voice.

Bokuto gave him a curious glance before shrugging.

“Yeah, I guess so. We’ve been best friends for years, so it’s only natural.”

Akaashi absorbed this knowledge with a nod, staring out the window into the darkness. The slight blur of the trees made him a little nauseous, though, so he focused his attention out the windshield.

The cool air whipped through his hair thanks to the lack of a roof on the Jeep, but, despite the chill cutting through his windbreaker, he didn’t really mind. There was something refreshing carried on the wind, and he couldn’t help but take a deep breath.

When they got back to the main road, Bokuto cautiously crept forward and made a show looking both ways for cars before gunning it and whipping the Jeep around onto the dark street.

Akaashi gave him a quizzical look, a thought occurring to him.

“Wait, why didn’t you just tell me about the figurines the first time I asked? There’s nothing particularly embarrassing about it,” he voiced, but Bokuto just ignored him and flipped on the radio.

Annoyed and emboldened by the beers, Akaashi reached forward and turned the nozzle so that he could talk over whatever Madonna drivel was playing.

Bokuto let out a dramatic sigh before conceding.

“Fine, fine, I’ll tell you, alright? But not now, it’s embarrassing. I’ll tell you right before I drop you off,” he said, and despite his ever-growing interest, Akaashi allowed it.

“Fine.”

He proceeded to direct Bokuto towards his house before turning the radio back up and staring out the window for the rest of the ride.

_“’No pouting’, my ass,”_ he thought, frowning slightly. How bad could it be? Bokuto didn’t exactly strike him as the bashful type, so what difference did it make? He knew it wasn’t fair, but the withholding of this information did nothing but deepen his disdain for the boy beside him.

Strike one: friends with Konoha.

Really. How was he supposed to associate with someone like that? He didn’t want to dwell on what had happened with Konoha any more than he already had that night, but it seemed inevitable. Although, given how boisterous Bokuto was, how the hell did he and Konoha even become friends? Well, they were the same age; maybe they met in class or something.

Strike two: was making Akaashi wait to hear something about Kuroo.

As the best friend of the guy Akaashi had the hots for, the only thing Bokuto was useful for was as a well of info on Kuroo, yet he couldn’t even do that properly.

“OOOOH, I WANNA DAAANCE WITH SOMEBODY!” Bokuto suddenly belted, turning up the radio to blast the Whitney Houston song as they sped along. Akaashi jumped in his seat, startled out of his thoughts.

_“Strike fucking three.”_

Bokuto continued his theatric rendition of the pop hit, complete with wild gesturing and occasionally having to swerve back into the correct lane when he deviated. He even offered an invisible microphone to Akaashi, who just stared at him blankly. Unfazed, Bokuto finished up with the whistle notes at the end of the song before finally turning the radio back down to a manageable volume. Still, Bokuto continued humming along to the top 40.

With his leather and makeup, not to mention his insane buff build, he’d be the absolute last person Akaashi ever thought he’d see mumble the words to a Bangles song.

The man was a complete oxymoron.

_“Or maybe just a regular moron.”_

A beat later, Akaashi couldn’t help but snap, “You do realize you’re a large, straight male, don’t you?”

Bokuto let out a horrified gasp.

“How _dare_ you assume I’m straight,” he huffed, and Akaashi’s cheeks heated.

“I apologize,” he muttered, fiddling with the zipper on his jacket.

Bokuto shook his head, turning the radio down a little.

“Nah, don’t worry about it, I’m just messin’ with you. I can’t blame you for thinking so,” he told him, making the turn passed the library where Akaashi had met Kuroo. That meant they were about fifteen minutes out from his house, if they took the quickest route.

“I was gonna stop for smokes real quick, is that cool? Kuroo asked me to pick up some for him,” Bokuto added as they approached a gas station.

“If it’s for Kuroo,” Akaashi agreed. Bokuto gave him a funny look at that, but didn’t comment as he turned into the 7/11.

He left the car running for Akaashi while he ran in, returning quickly with a cup and a pack of Marlboro’s.

“Here, I thought you looked kinda cold. I wasn’t sure how you like it, so I just guessed,” Bokuto told him cheerfully, handing the cup to Akaashi.

He cupped his hands around it, confused as heat seeped into him. He took a hesitant sip.

“Oh. You bought me shitty gas station coffee,” Akaashi stated, a little shocked at the thoughtful act.

Bokuto reversed the car, not looking at him as he answered, “It’s not a big deal. Sorry if it tastes bad, I’m not a coffee person so I dunno what’s good and what’s not.”

Quickly realizing his error, Akaashi attempted to correct it.

“No, no, I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. I’m just kind of…. Taken aback,” he explained, taking another gulp to prove himself. Unfortunately, the coffee was still scorching hot, and he spluttered as it touched his sensitive tongue.

Bokuto broke into a laughing fit as the drove along, taking a solid five minutes to get himself under control.

“I-I’m sorry,” he wheezed, “but the look on your face was hilarious! I didn’t even think you could make a face like that!”

Akaashi, cheeks flaming, heaved a sigh, pitying his poor, burnt tongue. The coffee’s cream-to-sugar ratio was astronomically off, but it had been gifted to him, so he’d be sure to finish it. Burnt tongue be damned.

Not long thereafter, they finally arrived in front of Akaashi’s house. Bokuto put the car in park, idling a moment while Akaashi unbuckled and finished gulping down the disgusting coffee.

“I believe I’m owed a story,” Akaashi said, quirking an eyebrow at the driver.

Bokuto puckered his lips, muttering, “Damn, I’d hoped you’d forgotten about that.”

After another moment of procrastinating by touching up his hair, Bokuto at last gave in.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Basically, they call Kuroo the black cat ‘cause anyone that crosses paths with him has their life totally fucked up,” he confessed, and an odd shiver went down Akaashi’s back that was a different shiver than what he’d come to associate with Kuroo.

“I see…. And why do they call you the owl?”

At that, Bokuto let out a groan and covered his face with his hands like a flustered schoolgirl.

“This is so embarrassing, don’t make me say,” he whined, but Akaashi was resolute.

Seeing he wasn’t going to be let off the hook, Bokuto groaned again, bracing his arms against the steering wheel and bringing his forehead down to rest on his forearms.

“They call me the owl,” he said, not looking at Akaashi.

“Yes, that’s been firmly established,” Akaashi prodded, getting even more impatient than before.

“They call me the owl becauuuuse,” Bokuto slowly continued, then took a deep breath.

“TheycallmetheowlbecauseIcankeepyouupallnight.”

Akaashi blinked. Then blinked again.

Then abruptly exited the Jeep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello all! this chapter is a bit longer than usual ;) if you're interested, please follow me on twitter! it's mostly a haikyuu account, @urlocalswan

Chapter 5

Akaashi

Alright so _maybe_ he hadn’t exactly reacted properly to what Bokuto had shared with him, but Akaashi was sure he must’ve committed some far worse sin to deserve the torture he presently endured.

As per usual, he’d been greeted with a lecture from his mother upon his arrival home, before retiring to his upstairs haven and laughing so hard he gasped for air and ended up choking on his own saliva. It wasn’t so much _what_ Bokuto had said that had him wheezing for breath, but the _look_ on the older boy’s face when he broke the news of the unfortunate nickname.

“I mean really,” Akaashi gasped to himself, “they must absolutely _hate him_ to saddle him with a name like that.”

What was more impressive to Akaashi was that Bokuto, at least, seemed to recognize the cruel nature of the name, even if it had been bestowed kindly.

After that, Akaashi had fallen into a restful sleep. When he woke Saturday and Sunday, he went about his usual weekend habits of sleeping in and dissecting the lyrics of songs by The Smiths or reading, occasionally working on whatever homework he hadn’t completed in class.

By the time Monday reared its ugly head and Akaashi arrived at school, he had put the events of Friday into the storage closet of his mind to collect dust.

Like an idiot, he had assumed he’d seen the last of Bokuto, at least until the next time Kuroo dragged him out of the house.

Or it was more like he hoped he had.

There was a short list of things Akaashi had come to be known for both by his family and peers. Akaashi was known for asking overly complex questions in class. Akaashi was known for being the person you want to partner up with for Socratic seminars. Akaashi was known for liking patterned sweaters.

Akaashi was not, however, known for being a particularly lucky bastard.

His penchant for misfortunate stopped by to remind him of its existence in the form of an all-too-familiar voice booming, “AKGHAASHIIII!” down the hallway loud enough to rupture his eardrums.

He had just enough time to hunch his shoulders in a cringe before a large hand slapped him on the back hard enough to knock his glasses down his nose. Akaashi wondered if he slapped Bokuto in the face just as hard if he’d leave him the fuck alone.

“Akaashi! Hey! Do you have first lunch too? That’s crazy! You’ve _gotta_ sit with us,” Bokuto babbled, keeping his hand centered on Akaashi’s back to propel him forward.

He considered flat-out lying and spending all future lunches in the library, but a small piece of him felt guilty for how rude he’d been after Bokuto had taken the time to drive him home. Resigning himself to his fate, Akaashi heaved a sigh and forced himself to nod.

“Awesome! Some of the other guys should already be at the table, I’ll get you settled before I hop in the lunch line,” Bokuto told him at light speed, ripping open a door to the cafeteria and pushing Akaashi across the threshold.

The table he was brought to sat familiar faces from Friday, all of them sporting some combination of denim and leather.

“BOKUTOOO!” the small red-haired one bellowed, leaping to his feet and rushing over to his upperclassman.

Bokuto ruffled his hair affectionately and greeted him with equal gusto before gesturing to Akaashi at his side.

“You guys remember Akaashi, right? He’s gonna sit with us today, so make some room,” Bokuto told them, and everyone went about scooting one way or the other enough to open a spot for Akaashi to squeeze into.

“Um, I appreciate it, but I have to go in the lunch line too,” he said, awkwardly pushing up his glasses.

“Oh! My bad! We’ll be back, guys,” Bokuto responded, before he promptly grabbed Akaashi by the wrist and dragged him over to the line.

“So, Akaashi. How’s your day going?” he asked conversationally once they were situated in line. The underclassmen left a wide breadth between themselves and the intimidating, leather wearing Bokuto, and Akaashi shot them apologetic glances.

He wasn’t sure how to answer nicely, so he stuck with a vague, “Could be better, could be worse.”

At his lackluster response, Bokuto frowned and rubbed his chin, comically deep in thought.

After what Akaashi considered to be much too long given the solution he came up with, Bokuto perked up with a gasp.

“I know! I’ll buy you a muffin! What kind you want? You strike me as a banana-nut kinda guy,” he proclaimed, excitedly waddling in place like a little kid, or maybe like someone about to piss themselves.

Upon hearing Bokuto’s assertion, Akaashi’s cheeks flamed at the unintentional innuendo, and he refused to confirm which muffin variety he’d like.

“What? What’d I do?” Bokuto demanded. Akaashi shook his head and massaged his temples.

“Nothing,” he muttered, but a moment later, Bokuto let out another gasp, this time in indignation.

“A- _kghaashi_!” the older boy exclaimed, his ears turning red as he grasped Akaashi’s discomfort.

Embarrassed, Akaashi spluttered, “It’s not _my_ fault you phrased it so…. So suggestively!” He stomped forward in line and yanked a peach yogurt off the refrigerated shelf, then a granola bar, then on out the line.

He didn’t wait for Bokuto before returning to the punks’ table, sliding into the narrow spot they had prepared for him. They all greeted Akaashi before going back to their previous chatter.

He ripped the tin lid off his yogurt, then clenched his jaw when he remembered he hadn’t grabbed a spoon. Just as he was about to maneuver out of his seat, the necessary plastic utensil clattered onto the table in front of him.

Akaashi craned his neck around and found Bokuto towering over him, one muscular arm balancing his crowded lunch tray, the other brandishing a chocolate muffin.

“I saw you forgot a spoon, so I grabbed one for you,” he explained, reaching over Akaashi and setting the muffin beside his granola bar when he didn’t take it of his own volition.

Akaashi blinked up at him, once again taken aback by the small, observant acts of kindness Bokuto had bestowed upon him.

Wordlessly, Akaashi scooted as close to the edge of the lunch bench as he could get without falling, half his ass already hanging off. Bokuto happily accepted the silent invitation and crammed his broad body into the barely-there slot, jostling Hinata in the process.

“That’s all you’re having?” Bokuto inquired curiously a few minutes later, mouth half-full of tater-tots. Akaashi scraped the last bit of yogurt from the cup before answering, savoring the last spoonful.

“First lunch is early for my metabolism, so I just treat it like breakfast and stash a granola bar for later,” he explained, ultimately demonstrating when a moment later, he zipped his granola bar into his backpack.

All that was left was the chocolate muffin.

As stupid as it was, as absolutely ridiculous as it was for something so little to mean anything to him, Akaashi felt a small smile tug its way across his lips as he peeled off the saran wrap.

“Thank you,” he said to Bokuto, quietly, just loud enough for him to hear and no one else at the table. Not that they could, given the speed and volume at which Hinata was relaying the plot of some Mel Gibson movie.

As an extra show of gratitude, and to finally pay him back for what an asshole Akaashi had been towards him on Friday, Akaashi used the handle of his spoon to split the muffin down the middle. He offered Bokuto the minutely larger half as he worked on his chunk.

Bokuto just stared at him in awe for a moment before appreciatively wolfing down his half of the muffin.

Not long afterwards, the bell rang, signaling the end of first lunch. Bokuto walked with Akaashi back to his history class before sprinting down the hall to his science classroom, just barely making it before the bell.

Akaashi let out an amused huff as he slid into his desk and procured his notebook from his backpack.

 _“For someone that’s friends with Konoha, I guess he isn’t_ that _bad.”_

~

The rest of the week passed in a similar fashion, until Akaashi was acclimated to Bokuto’s boisterous nature and had started making polite conversation with some of the other punks. He was growing rather fond of Hinata and Yamaguchi in particular; Hinata obviously idolized Bokuto, and Yamaguchi reminded him a little of himself, just more outspoken.

Kuroo had stopped into his biology class twice, mostly to pester Kenma, but Akaashi liked to think it was to see him, too.

By the time Friday rolled around, he barely had to think before agreeing when Bokuto asked him to come to the bonfire.

“Awesome! If you want, I can pick you up, I don’t mind,” he offered as they ate lunch, passing Akaashi a tot. In the last week, they’d established a new baseline of normalcy, in which Bokuto gave Akaashi food in exchange for Akaashi maintaining a less cold disposition.

Crammed together at the end of the table, they didn’t have much choice but to get along, as far as Akaashi was concerned. It wasn’t exactly comfortable having his personal space invaded, especially considering Bokuto had absolutely no understanding of boundaries; despite this, though, they got along surprisingly well.

It wasn’t any douchebag off the street that could make Akaashi laugh, but Bokuto’s constant antics made his face hurt from the excess smiling. It almost pissed him off, how such a simpleton was the person that was making him smile.

Bokuto shoving straws up his nose and making obnoxious walrus noises ought to be damn near the most annoying thing Akaashi had experienced to date, but for the strangest reason, it just made him huff a laugh and shake his head to cover up a grin.

A _grin_ , for God’s sake.

The sun set Friday evening, and for some mysterious reason, Akaashi was nervous. Bokuto was supposed to be by around quarter to nine to pick him up. The thought made his skin prickle, even in his hot shower, but he just shook off the nerves.

 _“I’m probably just scared he’ll get lost and barge into some poor sap’s living room,”_ he thought, scrubbing his scalp extra vigorously. He’d made sure to write down extremely detailed directions, but he still wasn’t confident, given what a space cadet Bokuto was.

Akaashi made sure he was squeaky clean before exiting the shower, using a washcloth to dry off his hair after wrapping a lavender towel around his waist. He may have gone overboard on the scrubbing.

As he considered the three outfits he’d laid out on his bed before hopping in the shower, his nerves resurfaced.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he scolded himself, “No one there gives a shit what you look like.”

For some reason, though, the thought didn’t comfort him, even when he eventually pulled on what he determined to be the best option.

Akaashi stood before his mirror, glaring at his reflection. He didn’t look bad, per se, but something wasn’t working, somehow.

Given the increasingly chilly October nights, he had blow dried his hair, and the mess of charcoal waves had finally been coaxed into a somewhat flat pattern. You could just barely see the white t-shirt he wore under his sweater, but if he adjusted the neck, it wouldn’t peak out.

Akaashi also concluded the black skinny jeans he’d donned weren’t the problem, nor his signature Chucky T’s.

That only left his poly-toned sweater. It was essentially the color palette yellow, with a wide, sunshine gold horizontal stripe at the top, followed in descending order by equally sized mustard yellow, brown, and black stripes.

Akaashi stared and stared, but he couldn’t quite place what the problem was. From the corner of his eye, he saw headlights flitter through the blinds of his window, signaling Bokuto’s arrival.

Oh.

_Oh._

The uppermost stripe of his sweater was, incidentally, a near-perfect match of Bokuto’s eye color.

Akaashi cast a panicked look at his window, but his realization had dawned too late for him to change. The plan had been for Bokuto to wait in the car, seeing as Akaashi wasn’t sure how many punks his mother’s heart could handle in a seven-day stretch.

Grumbling all the way, Akaashi took the needle off his record of The Smiths’ latest album and rubbed on another drop of cologne before stomping down the stairs.

“Bye!” he called in the direction of the master bedroom, then hightailed out of the house before his mother could stop him. He’d already run it past her, but she was known for her last-minute freak-outs.

Akaashi hurried to Bokuto’s Jeep, ripping the passenger door open and hopping in.

“You can go,” he prompted, fumbling with the seatbelt as Bokuto took off.

“Are you allowed to come?” Bokuto asked, glancing in the rearview mirror at Akaashi’s house.

“Last I checked, yes. And that’s good enough for me,” Akaashi replied, heart pounding from the excitement.

Bokuto let out an unexpected cackle at his response before flipping on the radio.

“I promise, no Whitney this time,” he teased, and Akaashi snorted.

“Play whatever you want. I’ll do my best to only judge you internally,” Akaashi told him, prompting another giggle from Bokuto.

“Y’know ‘kaashi, you’re pretty funny once you chill out.”

The compliment pinched the corners of his mouth upwards, but his expression fell when another voice in his memories echoed a similar sentiment.

_“’Hey Akaashi, you know how I started falling for you? Once you relaxed around me, you started joking around, and you’d make me laugh. It’s just another thing about you that makes me smile.’”_

“Shut the fuck up.”

In his surprise, Bokuto pumped the brakes, head shooting over to stare at Akaashi in the passenger seat.

Akaashi, having realized he’d accidentally spoken aloud, had his face buried in his hands.

“Sorry. Not you,” he mumbled, considering if he should throw himself out the car then and there, or wait until they gathered more speed so the death would be more immediate.

  
“Oh, okay. I thought you meant me, for a sec! Anyway, what radio station do you like? You can pick this time,” Bokuto said, bouncing back immediately and speeding back up.

Liking the concept of pretending nothing happened, Akaashi reached forward and turned the knob to 102.9 and increased the volume so they wouldn’t have to talk (and he wouldn’t have an opportunity to humiliate himself again).

One of The Cure’s newer songs came on, and some tension left Akaashi’s body at the familiar music.

“Oh, I love this song!” Bokuto exclaimed, immediately picking up the lyrics.

He danced around in his seat, staging a dramatic performance as he sang to Akaashi, “YOUUU, soft and only, YOUUU, lost and lonely, YOUUU strange as angels, dancing in the deepest oceans, twisting in the water—”

“You’re just like a dream, you’re just like a dream,” Akaashi cut in, finishing the verse and catching himself off guard. His eyes widened slightly as he took in his surroundings to try to figure out what on God’s green earth would’ve prompted him to sing to Bokuto.

Despite the chill, the cool air whipping through Akaashi’s hair and tearing at his clothes was a refreshing, constant presence thanks to Bokuto’s Jeep not having a roof. The radio was up high enough that Akaashi doubted Bokuto had even heard him, and even if he had, he seemed completely unfazed as he bopped along to the next song that came on. As they cruised along, Akaashi found himself studying his cohabitant of the vehicle.

Like the first time he’d seen him, Akaashi got a strange feeling in his chest, and it grew with each second he watched Bokuto. He was still doing stupid dances and unabashedly butchering whatever song crossed the radio waves, but that easy, at-peace grin never left his face. The twinkle in his burnished gold eyes when he’d look over at Akaashi caused his chest to fill with helium, making him feel so lightheaded he’d rip his gaze away.

It wasn’t until they’d already turned into the dirt road and Bokuto fumbled over some lyrics before breaking into an unbridled laughing fit at his own mistake that Akaashi recognized the emotion ballooning within him.

The thought even flittering across his consciousness was enough to bring on nausea so strong Akaashi growled, “Stop the car.”

Before Bokuto could even oblige, Akaashi had ripped off his seatbelt and launched himself out of the Jeep, doubling over the roots of the nearest tree and vomiting his guts up. Panting, Akaashi clenched his eyes shut against even the half-idea.

“No way in Hell. No way in _Hell_ ,” he swore, then forced himself to swallow and suck in another breath.

In his weakened state, he hadn’t even sensed Bokuto approaching until he felt a large hand rubbing his back hesitantly.

“’kaashi? You okay? Here, rinse out your mouth with this,” he said gently, holding out half a bottle of orange Gatorade.

Akaashi jerked away from his touch before yanking the bottle from his grasp, swirling the drink around his mouth and spitting it out. A moment after, he forced down some of the beverage, and managed not to puke again.

Having calmed down, Akaashi took one last shaky breath before telling Bokuto, “I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

Bokuto shook his head. “No way, you’re in no shape to be walking alone.”

Akaashi clenched his hand around the Gatorade bottle.

“It’s not far, and I can’t ride in a car.”

 _“With you,”_ is what he didn’t say.

Bokuto let out a groan, jaw clenched, but conceded.

“Fine, I can’t argue with you when you’re like this anyway,” he sighed, then went back to the Jeep.

Relieved at least slightly, Akaashi let out a sigh of his own before beginning his walk…. Lit from behind by headlights.

“Oh my God, just go,” he shouted over his shoulder. Bokuto, inching along in the Jeep behind him, shook his head vigorously.

“Uh-uh. Like you said, it’s not far!”

Knowing a lost cause when he saw one, Akaashi didn’t reply; he simply grit his teeth and forced himself forward.

Sure enough, it was only another seven minutes of walking before they arrived at the bonfire, where everyone else was already waiting. Despite the odd looks, no one questioned their modes of transport, but just to be sure, Akaashi approached Bokuto after he’d parked.

“Hey. Don’t tell anyone what happened, alright? Especially not Kuroo,” he ordered, and Bokuto nodded earnestly.

“No worries, no one’ll hear a hoot,” he agreed, then, concerned, lowered his voice and asked, “Are you sure you’re alright though?”

Akaashi scrunched his eyebrows together and jut out his jaw angrily.

“Just _drop it_. Surprising as it is, I _am_ capable of looking after myself,” he snapped.

Before Bokuto could say anything more, Akaashi stalked off to find someone with cigarettes.

The rest of the evening was passed chain smoking with some guy Hinata had called Iwaizumi and glaring at Bokuto. Feeling eyes on him, Bokuto would shoot him an apologetic smile every now and then, only making Akaashi’s frown deepen.

His stomach would give sailors a run for their money, given how many knots it had worked itself into by the time the moon was high and everyone else was higher. The nicotine certainly did nothing to calm his nausea, and eventually he had no choice but to give Iwaizumi a stiff nod of thanks before approaching Kuroo.

“Finally! I was starting to think you didn’t like me anymore, doll face,” Kuroo proclaimed around two cigarettes on either side of his mouth.

“Sorry, I um. I’ve had a long day,” he said by way of explanation, prompting a curious head tilt from Kuroo.

“You wanna leave? I can get Bo—”

“Not him, please.” Akaashi had cut him off before he even knew what he was doing.

Sitting up from where he’d been lounging in a lawn chair, Kuroo considered him a moment before nodding.

“Alright, I can take you home. I didn’t drink tonight, so I’m good to drive,” he told him, pushing off his knees and standing fluidly.

As per usual, he was leather-wrapped sex on two legs.

With the firelight playing off his features and the lines of his body, Akaashi was left no other choice but to stare nearly slack-jawed as Kuroo braced his hands against his waist before leaning back, his spine creaking.

Akaashi almost swore audibly when he noticed the strip of skin that had been exposed when Kuroo’s shirt hiked up, a glorious view of his dark happy trail framed by irresistibly V’d abs offered by his low-slung jeans.

“Yes. I’d like you to take me,” Akaashi informed him, and a devilish grin touched Kuroo’s lips as if he knew what Akaashi had been thinking.

“Then let’s get going,” he agreed, a black-lined eyelid dropping in a wink that set Akaashi’s body on fire.

There was no better cure for sickness than heat.

“Kuroo, would you mind pulling over when we pass the library? My stomach feels upset from all the cigarettes,” Akaashi asked as innocently as possible, pointedly keeping his gaze directed out the window.

“Anything for you, gorgeous,” was the reply he got, and maybe it was his imagination, but it seemed like Kuroo drove significantly faster after the request.

When they arrived at the deserted library parking lot, a new sense of calm had washed over Akaashi. No thoughts of…. What had been bothering him before dared cross his laser-focused mind, not when Kuroo put the Tercel in park, and definitely not when Akaashi at last turned to look at the older boy.

“How’s your stomach feeling,” Kuroo inquired, just-barely clouded amusement lilting his voice.

Akaashi steeled his nerves before scooting to the left edge of the passenger seat, replying, “It’s the strangest thing, but it seems it’s been miraculously cured.”

He could barely contain the pounding of his heart, hammering away in his chest as he leaned closer still, offering himself up.

Kuroo’s own gaze was locked onto Akaashi’s face, watching his every move as Akaashi slowly slid his glasses up into his hair so they wouldn’t be a nuisance. It seemed like they were suspended in Jell-O from the unfathomably long stretch of time it took for Kuroo to raise one his hands off the steering wheel and place his fingers under Akaashi’s chin.

Lightly. Teasingly.

“You want me, _Keiji_?” The low, sensual purr of his voice shot straight below Akaashi’s belly button.

Instead of verbally responding to the bait, Akaashi saw no other choice but to project himself out of his seat and have his tongue land in Kuroo’s mouth.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: SEXUAL CONTENT! READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.

Chapter 6

Akaashi

“K-Kuroo—” The breathy gasp was uttered with his lips pressed so hard against the lips of the aforementioned that the word was barely distinguishable from the multitude of other noises made between the two of them.

Kuroo, somehow deciphering his name from among the rest of it, pulled away from Akaashi and pressed his lips to where his jaw met his ear. “Did you need something, darling?” he purred, and Akaashi clenched his jaw.

It’d been nearly fifteen minutes since Akaashi had pounced onto him, and the more time passed, the less the younger could stand the absence of Kuroo in him. In the interim, they had both shed their outermost layers, leaving Akaashi planted firmly atop Kuroo, straddling his lap in nothing but his white t-shirt he’d worn under his sweater, his black socks, and a pair of navy boxer-briefs. Kuroo paralleled his clothing choices (or lack thereof), sporting only his black The Cramps t-shirt that had had the sleeves hacked off and a pair of red trucks.

Their proximity, and, more importantly, the proximity of their crotches made it difficult for Akaashi to breathe; every inhale felt shaky, every exhale jittery as his hot breath steamed the windows of Kuroo’s car. With the older boy leaving moist kisses along his neck, Akaashi experienced for only the third time in his life what it felt like to be incapable of speech, of finding words to express himself.

Kuroo nipped at Akaashi’s earlobe, asking, “Trouble speaking? Don’t worry, there’s plenty of other ways for you to express yourself,” before giving the slightest circling of his hips.

It was embarrassing, really, how extreme Akaashi’s reaction was to such light teasing, but he couldn’t stop the groan from scraping out of his throat, or from his body engaging autopilot. Not a single, solitary conscious thought crossed his mind as he ground his own hips down, pressing the evidence of Kuroo’s effect on him across his lap, curling upwards. It had been a long while since he’d done anything like that, but his body remembered so he didn’t have to as he gripped Kuroo’s arm with one hand, the other at his neck. Akaashi pulled away from the teeth nibbling his ear and rolled his head under Kuroo’s chin, forcing him to tilt his head up and leaving his mouth unoccupied.

Seizing the opportunity, Akaashi mashed their mouths together. The way Kuroo kissed him could only be described with one word: infuriating. The assured, slow lap of his tongue in Akaashi’s mouth made him feel like he had to prove himself; what would it take for Kuroo to feel as desperate as he did?

Akaashi stumbled across his answer sooner than anticipated when he used his grip on Kuroo’s bicep to push him harder against the seat and tilted his head to better angle their mouths. As the younger sucked Kuroo’s tongue, he gave a particularly impatient roll of his body, and Kuroo’s hands shot to Akaashi’s waist, slowing his movements.

“Fuck. Don’t do that again or I won’t last as long as I’d like to with you,” Kuroo warned, voice huskier than it had been moments earlier. The admission cocked Akaashi’s mouth into a snarky grin, an expression he had forgotten he could make. Slowly, he resumed his rhythm, grinding down against Kuroo and raising his eyebrows.

“And how long is that, exactly?” he inquired, his voice breathier than he’d like, but Kuroo didn’t seem to mind. The older boy hooked his fingers under the hem of Akaashi’s t-shirt and pulled it up and off him in one smooth motion. He then removed his own shirt, so that they were finally skin to skin, before capturing Akaashi’s mouth with a definitive swirl of his tongue.

“However long it takes for me to be able to compose my own melody from all the different ways you’ve moaned my name,” Kuroo replied, having spared a moment to watch Akaashi’s face for his reaction. He clamped his eyes shut, his grip on Kuroo tightening, all his self-control directed at not ripping the rest of their coverings off and finishing the deed then and there.

Still, Kuroo let out a smooth chuckle before pushing Akaashi down against himself by the grip on his hips. Every time they rubbed against each other, Akaashi’s brain completely fuzzed out, until no thought existed, and he had to force himself to keep his mind working. He chalked it up to scientific curiosity; did personality _actually_ reflect anatomical proportions? Kuroo, seeming to sense Akaashi would actually, legitimately lose it if they didn’t pick up the pace, helped to conduct the experimental aspect. Pulling Akaashi even closer so that they were flush against each other, Kuroo yanked the lever on the side of his seat and fully reclined the pair. Not quite finished, he reached back and grabbed the sissy bar of the back seat and dragged the two of them into the back of the Tercel.

Akaashi thought he’d call Kuroo “Genie” from then on, because not only was he a mind-reader, but it seemed he was about to grant his three wishes of removing their undergarments, distracting him from his endless stream of consciousness, and, thirdly, fucking him into oblivion.

Kuroo gave him a dastardly grin before flipping them over, so that he hovered above Akaashi, and just the sight of the older boy above him made him ache so badly he feared he’d cry. 

“Now things will _really_ get interesting,” he promised, then began an infuriatingly slow path of wet, open-mouthed kisses all along Akaashi’s neck, his collarbones, trailing lower to his chest.

When he reached the pink peaks on either side of his pecs, Kuroo glanced up at him, making sure to enjoy every second of Akaashi’s squirming and the unintentional gasp he let out when he realized Kuroo’s intentions. He slowly circled his tongue around his stiff nipple, taking his time before making sure the other didn’t get jealous and giving it a similar amount of attention. Akaashi’s hands found their way into Kuroo’s hair as he kissed and sucked and sank his teeth into the pale skin of Akaashi’s torso, eventually making his way back up to his neck.

“Care to show me what else that smart mouth of yours can do?” Kuroo breathed, his hot breath sending shivers down Akaashi’s spine. Panting, he slid out from under the punk and knelt on his knees in front of him on the cramped floor of the Toyota.

“Am I meant to do all the work? At least move closer,” he said, and that sexy chuckle of Kuroo’s that he’d grown so fond off rumbled through the car.

Kuroo shifted so that he sat square in front of Akaashi, and an instant of doubt filled his mind as lust-hooded eyes looked down at him.

It had been over a year since he’d been sexually active. What if…. He was bad? What if he was about to give Kuroo the worst head of his life? What if he had never been any good, and Konoha had just faked it all those times?

Before he could work himself into even more of a tizzy, Akaashi banished all thoughts from his head and focused on nothing but his two-factor plan: prove or disprove his scientific hypothesis, and make Kuroo as desperate as he was. Newly determined, Akaashi pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of the older boy’s right thigh, biting gently and mimicking the action on his opposing inner thigh.

He slowly, slowly made his way to the building tent of Kuroo’s erection, glancing up at him with a small smile before pulling the punk’s underwear down and off with as much ease as possible, given the tight space and less than ideal angling. Akaashi’s eyes couldn’t help but widen slightly.

_“Hypothesis beyond confirmed.”_

He kept his eyes locked onto Kuroo’s as he brought his mouth close, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin but just shy of touching. He let his lips part and slowly exhaled, his warm breath making Kuroo twitch, and the older boy made a frustrated noise.

“Goddamnit Akaashi, I like you ‘cause you’re a little shit, but this is a bit much,” he said, voice beginning to strain. Akaashi just smiled up at him sweetly and fluttered his eyelashes, never breaking eye contact as he brought his hand to his tongue and licked it from the base of his palm to his fingertips.

Akaashi wrapped his slicked-up hand around Kuroo, not with enough of a grip to satisfy, only to tease. Kuroo, though, didn’t seem to be complaining as he inhaled deeply and loosed the breath. After a few minutes of the light touching, Kuroo was hard as a diamond and just as shiny from pre-cum and a thin sheen of sweat coating his chest as he stared down at Akaashi with unflinching, lust-filled eyes. Just that look alone was enough to have Akaashi straining in his own boxer-briefs, and he decided he’d been coy enough to have evened the playing field.

“Now, what was it you were saying before?” he asked, lowering his face until it was level with where he slowly stroked Kuroo. “Something about,” he continued, sliding his hand down to Kuroo’s base and keeping it there, “Me having a smart mouth?” At that, Akaashi he dragged his tongue from base to tip and Kuroo uttered a short, “ _Fuck_.” He made a leisurely swirling motion, having reached where Kuroo was most sensitive, before releasing him and stopping entirely. “And something about being a little shit?” He pouted his lips and looked up at Kuroo, awaiting the explanation he knew Kuroo was too far gone to give.

“I will make it worth your while if you would _please_ shut the fuck up and suck my dick,” the older boy growled, and, satisfied he’d brought him to the brink of collapse, Akaashi nodded.

“Of course. All you had to do was ask.”

It had admittedly been a while, but Akaashi couldn’t help but think, _“Yup, still got it,”_ as he dropped his jaw in a perfect _O_ and took Kuroo as far back into his unaccustomed throat as possible. The owner of the appendage let out a low, long groan and twined his fingers through Akaashi’s hair, gripping tightly as he tilted his head back against the seat.

With that, Akaashi got to work, bobbing and licking and massaging to the best of his ability.

Something about the sight of Kuroo in ecstasy gave him an insane ego boost. Kuroo could easily get anyone he wanted, and, if how he kissed and gripped was any indicator, he certainly wasn’t lacking in experience. They came from antithetical worlds, and they probably couldn’t list more than five things about each other, but Kuroo still picked him to be in the backseat with.

Despite their differences, it was Akaashi’s name and no one else’s that Kuroo was moaning under his breath.

And maybe it was shallow and absurd and childish, but it was exactly what he needed to hear in that moment.

Not long after, Kuroo’s hands clenched in Akaashi’s hair as he tensed all over. A moment later, he spilled down Akaashi’s throat with a drawn out, “ _Fuuuuuuck_.” Not his first rodeo, Akaashi swallowed in one forced gulp as Kuroo bent down and scooped him back up onto his lap, jamming his tongue so far down his throat Akaashi wondered if he wanted to taste himself.

He maneuvered so that Akaashi was under him on the backseat, the two of them stretched out horizontally as Kuroo sucked hickies along his collarbones.

“Fuck, Akaashi,” he said, kissing his neck, “I _never_ finish that fast, so you get massive bragging rights,” he continued, then gathered Akaashi’s hands and pinned them above his head by the wrists. With his other hand, Kuroo snaked down to where Akaashi’s erection was beyond disguising.

“Now. Time for me to make it worth your while,” he vowed, and Akaashi’s lips couldn’t help but part in a pant. With one hand and some help from a more than willing participant, Kuroo pulled Akaashi’s underwear off and spat thick saliva onto his hand before wrapping it firmly around Akaashi. Hypersensitive, he couldn’t help but let out a quiet groan, which did nothing but encourage Kuroo to speed up.

“Does it feel good, Keiji? Or should I stop,” he purred, licking up the column of Akaashi’s neck and making him shiver.

“Don’t you dare,” Akaashi panted; it was taking all his self-control not to buck his hips into Kuroo’s hand, and with that devious tongue licking him all over, it was all he could do not to whine like some entirely submissive bitch. Still, with his hands pinned, there wasn’t much else he could do but squirm until Kuroo relocked their lips.

He did all he could to convey his urgency with every sweep and swirl of his tongue against Kuroo’s, straining against where he was pinned down when Kuroo once again picked up the pace to the south. There was nothing he could do to combat the moan he released almost directly into Kuroo’s mouth, and the older boy pulled back.

He was panting just as hard as Akaashi, and he began to slow the movements of his hand. It was only when a hint of clarity returned to him that Akaashi felt Kuroo had renewed his own hard-on.

“Akaashi, you’ve never…. Um, is this your first…. Are you a….?” he inquired, seeming to be just barely containing himself.

Akaashi vigorously shook his head, and Kuroo loosed a sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank God,” he said, then stopped touching Akaashi entirely to reach into the pocket behind the driver’s seat. From it, he removed a familiar little bottle and silver square.

“It uh. It has been a while, though,” Akaashi replied sheepishly, and Kuroo nodded slowly.

“Okay, yeah, that’s alright. We can take it as slow as you want.”

Akaashi was infinitely charmed by how polite he was being considering the fact he was actively leaking all over Akaashi’s stomach.

“No.”

Kuroo looked down at him with a curious look.

“No?”

Akaashi pulled against where he was held down and Kuroo quickly released him, but before he could apologize, Akaashi snatched the bottle of lube from his hand and cut him off.

Taking Kuroo’s hand, Akaashi uncapped the bottle with his teeth before taking a deep breath and releasing it.

“I don’t want to go slow, Kuroo,” he informed him, shaping Kuroo’s hand so that his pointer, middle, and ring fingers were bunched together. “I want you to fuck me so hard the residents of the neighborhood three blocks down call the police.” He poured lube all over Kuroo’s fingers.

After that, some in-between steps were a blur. He vaguely knew Kuroo kissed him so hard his lips bruised and flipped him onto his stomach. He knew he raised up onto his hands and knees, and almost blacked out from the pleasure of Kuroo spreading him apart and used his tongue as phase one of reacquainting Akaashi with the wild side. Eventually, one finger slipped in, slow and cautious, then a second, and the pace sped up. Akaashi was physically incapable of containing his moans as Kuroo scissored his fingers inside him, but it wasn’t until he pulled them out that he fully zoned back in.

He looked over his shoulder at Kuroo, whining, “Wh-Why’d you stop?”

Kuroo didn’t bother answering, not out loud, anyway. Instead, he reached forward and held the condom wrapper in front of Akaashi’s lips. He took the corner between his teeth and ripped it open, earning an appreciative massage of his glutes.

Akaashi watched, entranced, as Kuroo slid it onto himself and poured lube on top like Hershey’s syrup on a sundae. Never in his almost seventeen years of life did he find anything sexier than the crooked smile Kuroo gave him as he lined himself up with Akaashi’s entrance.

Of course, it was _Kuroo_. Nothing, especially sex, could ever be anything short of the most drawn-out game imaginable.

“I think this is the perfect time to take a break, don’t you?” he purred, teasing Akaashi’s more-than-ready rectum with the head of his phallus.

Knowing just how long things could potentially be dragged out, Akaashi refused to answer and instead clenched his eyes shut, focusing in on the sensation of Kuroo rubbing past him. He waited a few times until he was able to pinpoint the perfect moment to rock backwards, catching Kuroo on the edge of himself.

The older boy let out a low, sexy chuckle, and placed his palm flat against the small of Akaashi’s back.

“Fine, fine. I suppose I’ve tortured you enough. This time, at least,” he told him. While Akaashi was still focused on the long fingers drumming against his back, Kuroo rolled his hips forward, fitting himself inside in one fluid thrust.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Akaashi groaned, his fists gripping the edge of the seat as Kuroo pulled out slightly before thrusting deeper than before. Each thrust in and out was with the patience and smoothness of a pro, and by the time he was as far in as he could get, Akaashi's lower lip was bleeding from how hard he had to bite down to keep from crying out Kuroo’s name over and over.

He let out a particularly high-pitched whine when Kuroo picked up speed, gripping Akaashi’s hips with both hands to get better leverage.

“Shit ‘kaashi, you weren’t kidding when you said it’s been a while. You’re tight as a fucking virgin,” Kuroo panted, holding tight enough to bruise as skin slapping skin filled the car like the percussion to Akaashi’s symphony of moans and groans and whines.

“Shut _uuup_ ,” he retorted, though it came out as more of a wail instead of the biting remark he’d hoped for. Kuroo snickered, and the vibrations traveled through his _entire_ body, drawing another stuttering moan from Akaashi kiss-bruised lips.

“I-Is this the best you can do? I’m a little disa- _AAAH_ —.”

Akaashi was oh-for-two in his attempts to sass the man inside him, because anything other than sounds of pleasure were met with Kuroo’s thrusts growing faster and harder. He jammed a hand into Akaashi’s hair and yanked, forcing him to arch his back further, and the single functional braincell Akaashi had left wondered how in the fuck Kuroo knew he was into that.

“K-Ku— _fuck_ —ha-harder—holy _shit_ , _holy_ _shit_ —FUCK—”

His lack of vocabulary was, frankly, a bit humiliating, but with hot tears blurring his vision and his mouth incapable of closing long enough to form actual words, he figured it was the best his fucked-out brain could come up with given the situation.

“Not much of an angel anymore,” Kuroo remarked, his voice strained as he rammed into Akaashi. He took things down a notch, releasing his hair and leaning over the younger boy to cover his body with his and biting hard at his shoulder. The slower pace combined with the sharp pain dragged a high moan from deep within Akaashi as Kuroo kissed and licked along his neck while snaking a hand between his legs. He matched the motion with his own within Akaashi as Kuroo himself was growing sloppier.

“Kuroo I’m gonna—I’m gonna—,” Akaashi whimpered, head hung to watch Kuroo’s hand around him as the hot tears finally spilled down his face. Kuroo didn’t reply; he just increased his speed for a few more strokes before finishing for a second time with a low groan.

“Fuck you’re good, gorgeous,” he whispered in Akaashi’s ear, pressing a kiss to his sweat-soaked temple as he continued the dastardly roll of his hips inside and quick stroking outside.

That admission was what finally sent Akaashi over the edge; he came with a filthy cry all over Kuroo’s fingers, nothing but his name on his lips and when they could go again on his mind.

~

Bokuto swore he only took his eyes off Akaashi for five seconds to talk to Hinata, but when he scanned the bonfire group for him, he and Kuroo were gone. Frowning, he took a half-hit off the joint offered to him by Iwaizumi.

“Have you seen Akaashi?” he inquired, but the angry-looking boy shook his head.

“Nah. I think he left with Kuroo, like, twenty minutes ago,” Iwaizumi replied, but for some reason, Bokuto’s unease didn’t lessen.

He should feel comforted to know Akaashi was in good hands. Kuroo would of course take care of him and make sure he was okay, but for some reason, Bokuto couldn’t shake the feeling that something was just…. _Off_.

As the night dragged on the feeling only grew worse, until not even Hinata’s presence could lift his spirits. He decided to call it a night, grumbling some vague explanation before hopping in the Jeep and taking off. The radio only served to remind Bokuto of his worry over Akaashi, and even after he shut it off, nothing else would occupy his mind. Was he really okay? Everything had seemed fine, fun even, then suddenly it just…. Wasn’t, and Akaashi was hurling by a tree.

Had he done something wrong? Bokuto was bound and determined to win Akaashi’s favor. He was so smart, and pretty, and funny (sometimes). He wasn’t sure what had happened with Konoha, but based on both their reactions whenever the other was mentioned, it couldn’t’ve been anything good.

When Bokuto arrived home, he made sure to be quiet as he shuffled into his room and stripped off his clothes for sleep. Flopping onto his bed with a groan, he stared up at the glow-stars plastered to his ceiling, face scrunched up.

“Stupid ‘kaashi, making me worry,” he grumbled, then heaved a sigh and flipped onto his side. The rotary phone on his bedside table caught his attention, but he was too restless to offer it more than a glance before flipping onto his other side.

“Can’t even call him to check on him,” Bokuto continued to himself, then bolted into a sitting position. He could always call Kuroo to see how he was!

He excited scooted to the edge of his bed and reached for the phone, flipping on his lamp after misdialing the first time in his frantic state. Twirling the cord around his finger, he flopped onto his stomach and waited for Kuroo to pick up.

No response.

Frowning, he called again, to the same effect.

Finally, on the third try, someone picked up, but it wasn’t Kuroo.

His grandmother answered with an annoyed, “Hello? Who is it calling at this hour?”

Bokuto sat up again on his knees, pressing the phone to his ear as he grabbed the keypad to bring it closer.

“Yes! Hi! It’s Koutarou! Sorry to bother you, I was just wondering if Tetsu was home yet,” he told her quickly, anxious for the response. He heard a sigh and the shuffle of feet, presumably to peek out the blinds.

“His car isn’t in the driveway, so I’d assume he’s still out doing God knows what. I’ll tell him you called. _Goodnight_ , Koutarou.” Without further ado, she hung up on him.

Bokuto stared at the phone in disbelief. It was nearly two in the morning, and Kuroo _still_ wasn’t home? What in the hell could he be doing?

He now was worried about not one, but _two_ pretty black-haired boys. He didn’t even bother getting his clothes back on aside from a hoodie to stave off the cold before creeping back out to his Jeep and hopping in, heading off to track down his missing friends. He assumed they must be somewhere along the route to Akaashi’s house, or possibly Kuroo’s, so he headed in that direction.

It was cold as balls, but it was more nerves than anything else that had set Bokuto’s teeth a-chatter as he raced down the empty, obsidian night streets. Not even Whitney Houston’s greatest hits could soothe him.

At long last, he passed the library parking lot and spotted Kuroo’s hooptie-ass Tercel.

“Made me worry for nothing!” Bokuto complained, flipping a U-turn to pull into the lot and give his best friend a piece of his mind.

When he squinted, though, he noticed the fogged windows and the hand print smeared along the back right one, and his cheeks flamed.

Of course. What else would make Kuroo so late aside from his usual antics?

Well, as his best friend, did Bokuto not have the right to invade his privacy a bit? Just to see who was worth making him worry and to possibly tease him about later.

Bokuto killed his headlights and crept forward in the Jeep, leaning over the steering wheel to hopefully get a peak at the mystery Kuroo-fucker.

He jumped when the passenger side window cracked, scared he’d be spotted, but whomever didn’t seem to notice in the black night.

Bokuto could just barely make out glasses on the person’s face, but after a few minutes, the windows began to defog; Kuroo must’ve put on the A/C.

Finally granted an uninhibited view, Bokuto grinned deviously and peered in through the windshield.

“Let’s seeee, glasses, wavy hair, sweater—”

Bokuto leaned back so fast it seemed like he’d been electrocuted.

“No. Nope! _Definitely_ not,” he muttered, then threw the Jeep into reverse and went 85 the entire way home.

“Uh-uh. No way. No way in _Hell_ , no way in _a billion years_ , no way in fuck was that—Nope! Not even gonna say it. ‘Cause it _wasn’t_.” Bokuto repeated variations of the mantra until he was back in his bed with the duvet pulled up over his head.

 _“There’s_ no way _Kuroo just fucked…. Him. ‘Cause. ‘Cause he’s_ my _friend, not Kuroo’s. I bet Kuroo doesn’t even know what kinds of muffins he likes.”_

Sleep made an enemy of Bokuto that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaa oh my God i've never written smut before, i hope this comes out good geeeeeeez i'm nervous


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! im so sorry for the delay with this update, it's been a very hectic month for all of us. if you're interested, feel free to read my longer explanation at the end of the chapter! i also tried to make this chapter longer to make up for the time it took to get up :)
> 
> ***IMPORTANT***  
> i also encourage checking out my twitter, @urlocalswan, and donating to George Floyd's family, as well as signing petitions to honor victims of police brutality.

Chapter 7

Akaashi

Not a single thing could ruin Akaashi’s mood for the days following his…. Activities with Kuroo. He was floating on air all weekend, even when his parents fought, even as he vacuumed the house, even as he did his homework.

Anytime his thoughts would turn negative, he’d remember Friday night and Kuroo’s breathy whisper, and a smug smile couldn’t help but find its way to his lips. Not even his alarm Monday morning and the looming school week could dampen his spirits, nor lessen the spring in his step while he got ready for school.

As Akaashi dressed, he couldn’t help but admire the various bruises adorning his neck and collarbones, which he’d had to strategically hide with turtlenecks all weekend. Now that it was time to face his peers, though, he couldn’t help but consider his round-necked sweaters. It was cold enough for a scarf, so if he wanted, he could avoid prying eyes.

Nodding to himself, Akaashi pulled on a plain white collared shirt and buttoned it up, though he decided to leave the top two buttons open. Not to show off, of course. It was in case he got too warm. He wasn’t the type to show off hickies; it would be childish. Especially to people that knew Kuroo. It’s not like he wanted to impress them, or anything.

Over the white shirt Akaashi added a green cable-knit fisherman’s sweater cardigan his mother had bought him in July, when it was on sale. He was surprised by how much he liked it; he was to the point where his mom shopping for him wasn’t exactly a status symbol, but occasionally she picked out something he enjoyed wearing.

Dark jeans and two Chuck Taylor’s later, Akaashi was dressed and ready to go. The collar of his shirt kept him covered well enough that he decided to forego a scarf, and, after a quick check in the mirror by the front door, he headed to school.

It was a mundane, grey-skied early November day, something Akaashi was reminded of frequently by his bored glances out the window. There was a particular nostalgia that gripped him in cold weather, but he was never quite sure what to attribute it to. There wasn’t anything specific he found himself longing for, but the constant ache in his chest would never let up. Dead leaves skittering around and an expansive, bleak sky depressed some, but Akaashi wasn’t brought down by it all, not necessarily. It was more tied to that feeling of emptiness, and the notion he was missing out on something he was desperate to have.

Thinking of Kuroo didn’t cure these bouts of self-reflection, but to Akaashi, he offered the next best thing: one hell of a distraction.

The anticipation of when he’d next see him was beginning to overshadow his every thought.

All day, no matter how hard he tried to concentrate, his attention would get snagged on the fraying fabric that made up his consciousness and he’d be dragged down in a spiral of _KurooKurooKuroo_.

By the time lunchtime came around, he had almost forgotten he’d have to face the rest of the punks and explain his behavior Friday night. Akaashi half-reasoned that he didn’t owe them any explanation, and that it was none of their business, but to his surprise, he realized he was beginning to view them as friends of his own instead of just associates of Kuroo’s.

 _“I don’t have to get into the specifics. I’ll just tell them how I wasn’t feeling well, and I was tired,”_ Akaashi prepped, nodding to himself as he pulled open a set of doors leading into the cafeteria.

Still, something seemed…. Off. He couldn’t quite place it, but something was different as he approached the punks’ lunch table. Immediately, he was met by Hinata hopping to his feet and rushing over to him, gripping his arm tightly and peering up at him with concerned, black-lined eyes.

“Akaashi! Quick, quick! Something’s up with Bokuto,” he was informed at light speed, Hinata tugging him towards the lunch line.

Frowning, Akaashi allowed himself to be dragged along.

“Like what?” he inquired incredulously, wondering if it was even possible for Bokuto to be anything but boisterous and up-beat.

“I dunno, he won’t talk about it. He’s just all, like, gloomy ‘n stuff. I did my best to cheer him up, but he’s still in a pretty bad mood. He even snapped at Kenma when he asked where Kuroo was!” Hinata said, looking about as confused as Akaashi felt.

Bokuto _snapped_ at someone? He was _gloomy_?

It was definitely something Akaashi would have to see for himself.

“Alright, alright, you can let go. I’ll see what I can do,” he replied, and Hinata nodded quickly before darting off.

Akaashi loosed a nervous sigh. Why the hell was it _his_ job to deal with Bokuto? How would he even go about figuring out what was wrong with him?

Resigned, Akaashi craned his neck down the lunch line, eventually spotting the spiked hair of his friend. He mumbled apologies as he scooted his way up the line, snagging a yogurt on his way until he was beside Bokuto.

He tapped his shoulder to get his attention, an unsure brush of his fingers along leather. Akaashi’s eyebrows pulled together when he noted the singular tray of tater tots the older boy held, as opposed to his usual full-course meal.

Bokuto turned towards him curiously, expression oddly masked.

When he spotted who it was requesting his attention, his face lit up, and he squealed out a delighted, “Akaashiiii!”

An instant later, though, his face turned stormy, eyes dropping and eyebrows stitching. He mustered a lackluster, “Hey,” before turning away.

_“What the hell?”_

Akaashi had no idea what to make of this morose version of Bokuto.

“Is something wrong?” He figured a direct approach would be best.

Bokuto heaved a sigh and ignored him while he paid for his lunch before schlepping away.

Akaashi quickly handed over two bucks to the lunch lady before snatching up a plastic spoon and following Bokuto not to the table, but to where he shuffled out the doors. He finally came to a stop on the steps of one of the stairways leading to the second story of the school, the one farthest from the cafeteria, where he sat heavily and unhappily munched on a tot.

Unsure how to proceed, Akaashi took a cautious seat beside him and wordlessly peeled off the lid of his yogurt.

It wasn’t until there was a spoonful in his mouth that Bokuto answered.

“Something’s wrong, but I’m not gonna talk about it. I just think there’s something going on that shouldn’t be going on, but I also can’t say it shouldn’t be happening ‘cause it’s not my business and also I’m not really supposed to know about it. But also, I _should_ know about it, ‘cause someone shoulda told me, so I’m upset about all that together at the same time,” he confessed, talking to Akaashi’s neck instead of looking him in the eye.

He blinked a few times, surprised he managed to decipher what Bokuto was saying, but equally dumbfounded by the vague nature of his phrasing.

“Oh, okay. Is there something I can do to help you?” Akaashi settled on replying. By the sounds of it, nothing much could be done, but he’d feel bad if he didn’t at least offer.

Bokuto was watching him suspiciously, eyes narrowed, full lips pouted; Akaashi avoided his gaze and took another few bites of yogurt. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but he was beginning to feel nervous. His hand slicked where he held his yogurt cup, and he couldn’t bring himself to meet Bokuto’s prying eyes.

“Gimme a bite,” Bokuto said at last, and Akaashi swiveled to frown at him, then down at his yogurt.

“No, get your own,” he grumbled, scraping the sides of the cup as he stirred. Just because Bokuto was in a bad mood didn’t mean he was going to give up his brunch.

Bokuto was not satisfied by this answer.

He let out an irritated huff and crossed his arms, then uncrossed them, then glared at Akaashi, then stood up, then sat back down again. Then, abruptly, the larger boy launched himself at Akaashi, hand outstretched for the prized peach yogurt.

He landed atop him with and _oof_ and Akaashi released a startled sort of squeak, raising the yogurt cup above his head and hopefully out of reach. He attempted to squirm away, but Bokuto sank more of his weight down onto him, pinning him down as he tried to make a grab for the yogurt.

“Bokuto what are you _doing_ —get _off_ —what is _wrong_ with you—" he protested, but it was futile; he wriggled his way onto his back as Bokuto let out a little laugh and a grunt of effort as he stretched out his arm for the yogurt cup just barely out of reach. The sounds vibrated through Akaashi, shocking him into realizing their position, and he froze.

He was _pinned beneath_ Bokuto, and the older boy didn’t even seem to notice.

Or care.

Bokuto triumphantly snatched the yogurt cup and let out a delighted squawk, seeming entirely unbothered by their proximity and arrangement.

Their bodies were flesh against one another, separated only where one of Bokuto’s forearms propped him up, framing Akaashi’s face and trapping him on one side. One of Akaashi’s hands was braced against Bokuto’s shoulder, clutching where he had been attempting to push him away, but was instead paralyzed in shock. His other arm lied limp, outstretched beside him, palm up.

He had gone entirely rigid, nearly holding his breath, and Bokuto’s pleased cackle was cut short when it finally seemed to hit him.

Slowly, Bokuto lowered his chin so that his face was directly above Akaashi’s, lips slightly parted in surprise. Still, he made no effort to move; he kept his gaze locked directly onto Akaashi’s, so close his breath partially fogged the latter’s glasses as he stared back up at him.

Akaashi’s breathing quickened as he watched Bokuto swallow, lips closing momentarily only to crack back open, his throat bobbling and his breath hot. His black-lined eyes didn’t leave Akaashi’s face, not for a single second, and the intensity of his gaze turned his insides to goo. His body slackened beneath Bokuto’s, his muscles relaxing counterintuitively under the blazing gold of Bokuto’s stare, all tension slowly being released until he was practically limp.

This was completely different from the effect Kuroo had on him; in fact, it was almost the polar opposite. Kuroo lit his every nerve ending on fire, he lit up his nervous system like fireworks on July the fourth. Bokuto, though…. He was a sedative. A soothing, numbing effect only comparable to drugs, aside from the unfortunate side effects.

Bokuto had his own list of side effects, of course. He was unfairly beautiful, for one, and there was that feeling of strange reassurance whenever he was around. His taste in music was embarrassing, to be put mildly, and he wore just a little too much cologne. Despite the appearance of wearing his heart on his sleeve, there was an uncomfortably large amount of things Akaashi _didn’t_ know about him, and that didn’t exactly sit well with him.

Still, despite all of these things, Akaashi didn’t dare push him away.

Bokuto licked his lower lip and slowly drew it between his teeth, his hand closest to Akaashi’s face inching infinitesimally closer, until Akaashi felt the barest brush of his thumb against the side of his cheek. The slightest touch had Akaashi’s eyes fluttering closed, hesitantly, cautiously.

He could still feel Bokuto’s warm breath on his face, and could sense him growing ever so slightly closer, and Akaashi minutely tightened his grip on Bokuto’s shoulder. He didn’t know what was happening, or why he couldn’t seem to move much more than that, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he was glad they had chosen a secluded stairway.

Akaashi let his own lips fall open, just slightly, just enough to let him fill his lungs with some extra air. He didn’t dare open his eyes, for he feared the spell would somehow be broken. Instead, he was patient, patient and unexpectant.

He did not expect Bokuto to kiss him.

He did not expect Bokuto _not_ to kiss him.

Most especially, though, he did _not_ expect to hear a too-familiar voice drawl, “Oh what fresh hell is this.”

Akaashi jerked upright so quickly his forehead smacked into Bokuto’s, and his glasses jammed painfully against his face. Bokuto was also startled, and he scrambled away none-too-gracefully. In his surprise, he had squeezed the yogurt cup, and effectively squirted a glob onto both himself and Akaashi.

Unadulterated shame colored Akaashi’s face as he avoided looking at where Kuroo glowered at them, arms crossed. He didn’t even have the capacity to be upset over his sweater probably being ruined.

“Aw man, sorry,” Bokuto mumbled, but he spoke to Akaashi, not Kuroo, and was focused on the yogurt smeared over the right breast of his sweater-cardigan. He reached out a hand to try to wipe at it, but Akaashi flinched away from his touch. Why did he feel so _dirty_?

Bokuto retracted his hand, his hurt expression quickly morphing into anger.

“Well isn’t that just great. Just, just. Just _peachy_ ,” he burst, exasperated, and Akaashi blinked at him once before breaking into unbridled hysterics.

It was absurd. It must’ve been the stress of the situation. He doubted Bokuto even did it on purpose, but his pun was the pin in the balloon of Akaashi’s emotions, popping him open. He laughed and laughed and laughed, so much so his facial muscles cramped and his sides hurt and his eyes watered.

“B-Because the—!” He couldn’t even finish gasping out an explanation.

Kuroo stood watching blankly, evidently unamused, while Bokuto’s expression was one more of mild concern.

When Akaashi finally got a grip, he inhaled deeply and removed his glasses to wipe his eyes with the corner of his sleeve before returning them to his face.

“Well. I don’t like this much, I’ve decided,” he told the boys, standing. Frowning at the yogurt on him, he continued, “I’m going home.”

Not leaving time for them to gather their wits and respond, Akaashi pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and made his way to the front office, meandering his way through the halls walled with the closed doors of faculty and useless guidance counselors until he made it to the nurse’s.

“You know what to do,” she drawled, flipping through what appeared to be some sort of erotic novel Akaashi had seen at grocery stores. Despite the fact he could probably get her fired, he just repressed a sigh and grabbed one of the small slips of paper and a pencil from the little bucket and went about filling out his name, grade, and ailment.

As usual, he went with a vague “stomachache”, seeing as there was no way to disprove his stomach hurting, then passed the note to the school nurse after having to pretending to have something in his throat to get her attention.

Her eyes scanned the paper slip in a bored fashion, smacking her gum obnoxiously before puckering pink-smeared lips.

“You wanna call your mom or something? Phone’s over there. Dial 9 for the extension,” she said, then unceremoniously stood. “I’ll be back,” she added, leaving the room and disappearing around the corner.

Akaashi, left alone with his thoughts, unhappily scratched his hair.

Just what the hell had he gotten himself into?

As he picked up the phone and dialed his home phone number, not much else filled his mind.

It took two repetitions of his mother’s, “Hello? Hell _ooo_?” before he snapped out of it.

“Oh. Um, hey Mom. I’m in the nurse’s office, I don’t feel good. My stomach’s upset. Can you come get me?”

A pause, then, “Of course honey, I’ll be there soon.”

Oh _great_. It wasn’t much, but Akaashi was able to pick up on it: the slightest slurring of her words.

“Actually Mom, don’t worry about it. I’ll just lay down here for a little then go to class,” he told her quickly, grip on the phone tightening as he bunched the fingers of his other hand into the curly-cue cord.

Another pause, longer this time.

Then a sigh, long and hurt, similar to the one he was repressing.

“I can drive, Keiji. I’m your mother, for God’s sake; I wouldn’t come pick you up and drive you home if it wasn’t safe. I’ll have a coffee before I leave, alright? I’ll be there in twenty,” she told him, hanging up before he could protest.

Akaashi loosed the sigh he’d been holding before returning the phone to its keypad with a little more force than necessary.

As if he didn’t already have enough on his mind, he now had to worry about his mother crashing on her way to pick him up. He could ask if he could walk home instead, but that would raise suspicion about the severity of his made-up stomach problems, defeating the purpose.

He had no choice but to sit tight and send up a terse prayer.

Akaashi begrudgingly took a seat on the edge of one of the two resting cots, peering around the empty room for something to get his mind off his mother’s day-drinking or that whole _other_ problem he was faced with.

A light knock sounded at the door, stealing his attention. Akaashi glanced up, expecting the rotund nurse with her bad attitude in tow, but was instead confronted with something much more troublesome: an apologetic Bokuto, holding a black zip-up hoodie with the red star of The Clash on the back.

Akaashi frowned as the older boy made his away across the small room.

“Should I stay, or should I go?” Bokuto asked hesitantly, and Akaashi had to clench his jaw to suppress an unwilling smile.

Wordlessly, Akaashi scooted over an inch on the cot, a silent invitation. Bokuto released a short sigh of relief, quickly planting himself down beside the younger boy. They sat in a tense silence, Akaashi playing with his fingers while Bokuto zipped and unzipped the hoodie he had brought.

“Um, this is for you. Sorry about the yogurt. Don’t worry, it’s clean, I just keep it in my locker, so it should be fine,” Bokuto said at last, handing over the bunched-up fabric.

Akaashi just stared at it a moment, then at Bokuto, then back down at the jacket before taking it from him.

“Thanks.”

Because of the material of his jacket, Bokuto was able to wipe off the glob of yogurt that had tarnished his leather layer, so he had no use for the additional accessory.

Akaashi stood and pulled off his sweater-cardigan, hoping it wouldn’t stain. Underneath he had his white button-up and a matching wife beater tank as an extra barrier. He decided it’d look stupid to wear a nice shirt under a punk’s hoodie, so he went about unbuttoning his shirt after he’d untucked it from his jeans.

“Ah, jeez,” Bokuto grumbled, averting his eyes and using a hand to cover most of his face. Maybe he was imagining it, but Akaashi would’ve sworn he saw a dusting of pink over his cheeks.

“Oh shut up, I’ve got an undershirt on,” Akaashi replied, and Bokuto grudgingly raised his gaze.

Akaashi, freed from his two outer garments, carefully folded them as Bokuto’s attention zeroed in on him.

Bokuto jerked his chin to indicate to what he was referring to when he asked, “Where’d you get those?”

Fuck. The hickies.

Akaashi turned his back, officially up to his ears in humiliation. It’d take one hell of a nap to sleep this day off.

He quickly pulled on Bokuto’s The Clash hoodie and zipped it to his chin, shoving his hands into the pockets before sitting heavily.

“Actually, no. I don’t wanna know, alright? So don’t tell me. I shouldn’t’ve asked. Forget I said anything,” Bokuto told him, shaking his head quickly and clamping his eyes shut tight like a little kid.

Akaashi was feeling reckless. Maybe it was the confidence gifted to him on Friday, or maybe it was the whirlwind of emotions he’d suffered through that God-awful Monday, or maybe some combination, even.

But instead of dropping it, he pressed the issue; he pressed it like a day-old bruise, as if he was trying to figure out where it had come from and how badly it hurt. Obviously it was sore, but how much pressure would it take to really get it throbbing? He was about to find out.

“Why do you care where I got them?”

There. He’d done it. He’d jabbed his thumb right against the injury.

Bokuto shook his head again.

“No reason. Just curious,” he replied tightly, systematically cracking his knuckles one at a time. A nervous tick that was carefully noted.

Akaashi scoffed, “You’re a terrible liar.”

Bokuto laughed mirthlessly, loud and hollow and unsettling.

“Am I, Akaashi? Well. Wish I could say the same about you,” he growled, then stood abruptly. “Look, I’ve gotta get to class,” he continued, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay and apologize for the stupid yogurt, alright? I hope you and your ‘mystery man’ have fun.”

Without so much as a backwards glance or second of hesitation, Bokuto marched out of the nurse’s office.

~

Not long after Kenma dropped off his backpack for him, Akaashi’s mother arrived to pick him up. Thankfully, she seemed to have sobered up a little more, and didn’t ask any questions as she signed him out.

That is, until they were two stoplights away from the house, when she shot her fiftieth concerned look over at him in the passenger seat.

“Is there something going on at school?” she asked cautiously, and he let out a groan.

“Mom, can we please not do this right now? Nothing’s wrong at school, alright? I just had a rough day,” he told her, and she nodded, dropping the subject.

When they arrived home, Akaashi found a hot cup of coffee waiting for him that his mother pressed into his hands before mushing a kiss to his forehead.

“Get some rest, sweetheart. I’m running out to do some errands, but I should be home around six. Whatever’s the matter, I’m sure it’ll resolve itself,” she informed him, mussing his hair fondly before heading back out to her Sedan.

Akaashi took a sip of the coffee, letting out a content hum as the warmth flooded his body. He made his way over and plopped onto the couch, slipping off his Converse and swinging his legs up to stretch out properly. After flipping on MTV and turning the volume down most of the way, he closed his eyes and tried to relax his body.

His mother was right; things would eventually resolve themselves. So he was using sex as a coping mechanism, big deal; what American teenager _didn’t_? It got a little messy when he considered the specifics, but he was used to drama surrounding him. In fact, when things were going a little too well, he began to feel a creeping anxiety that something was about to go horrifically wrong.

So, in a way, his current entanglement was a good thing. At least the problem was easy to identify.

That’s what Akaashi told himself, at least.

After finishing up his coffee, he grabbed a Poptart, used the bathroom, and quickly passed out on the coach with Run-D.M.C. playing on the television. His dreams were filled with round, golden eyes staring down at him, and the ghost of a touch against his skin.

When a knock at the door yanked Akaashi from sleep, he assumed it was his mother, arms too full of groceries to twist the handle. Grumbling and yawning unhappily, he unlocked the deadbolt and pulled open the front door.

A tall, blurry figure in black stood before him, and even without his glasses, Akaashi was _pretty_ sure it was not, in fact his mother.

Squinting, the smell of cigarette smoke met his nostrils, and he demanded, “ _Kuroo_? What the hell are you doing here?”

The punk didn’t deign to reply, and instead took another drag before asking a question of his own.

“So you’re bangin’ Bokuto now, huh?”

Akaashi’s face flushed, but he rolled his eyes.

“Of course not. What you saw earlier, it—Believe me, it was nothing. An unfortunate, easily misconstrued circumstance,” he explained, wishing he had his glasses so he could better read Kuroo’s expression.

After a moment of scrutiny, Kuroo flicked his cigarette butt into the rosebush and released a tired groan, dragging a hand down the length of his face. 

“You wouldn’t lie to me, right?” he asked eventually, leaning against the doorframe. Akaashi swallowed hard, Bokuto’s stinging words ringing in his ears, but he shook his head.

“I don’t lie, and certainly not to you,” he replied, but it felt as if there was a sumo wrestler napping on his ribcage.

He did lie, of course.

But just the once.

Just to Konoha.

Akaashi’s stomach churned, and before he knew what he was doing, he’d grabbing Kuroo by the lapels of his leather jacket and yanked him forward, barely an inch away.

“Believe me, Kuroo, you’re the only one I want fucking me,” he proclaimed, voice low and harsh, almost a growl. Kuroo pressed his mouth to Akaashi’s, smiling, but not quite kissing him.

“Well alright then, gorgeous. Get your glasses so you can watch properly as I make sure things stay that way,” Kuroo said against his lips, then pushed Akaashi away and pulled the front door closed.

Momentarily frozen in shock, Akaashi had to shake himself before he fumbled for his glasses on the side table beside the couch before pulling his shoes back on and scribbling a note telling his mother he’d be back in time for dinner. It was only half past four, and the amount of time they had tugged a smile onto Akaashi’s face.

When he ripped the front door back open, Kuroo was already waiting in his Tercel, passenger window rolled down so Akaashi could hear him blasting the alternate mix of Led Zeppelin’s _We’re Gonna Groove_ with that stupid cocky grin on his face as he mouthed the words.

Akaashi jogged over and took up his place in the passenger’s seat before Kuroo shot him a wink and they peeled out of the driveway, tires squealing.

He was going to have the _best_ time pretending he hadn’t just lied again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this last month has been crazy, with all the recent events, but i also graduated from high school! i've had lots of family circumstances as well, as my dad is moving into a new house and my mother is working on her bachelor's degree, so i've been hoping both of them with those things. i'm also applying to my university's honors program, preparing for my transition to college, and looking for a summer job. anyway, i promise no matter what circumstances come up, i will be faithful to this fic! it means a lot to me, and every one of you makes it all the more worth-while with your kind and encouraging comments. i'm truly grateful!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter isnt super eventful, but i'm hoping to get the next chapter out at a faster rate so no worries! i've been swamped with college registration stuff but i promise i'll keep this fic going <3 as always thank you for reading!

Chapter 8

Akaashi

Panting, Akaashi flipped onto his back, wiping his sweat-drenched forehead and hairline on the back of his hand weakly. Licking his lips, the sting of salt met his tongue, and he shut his eyes to ignore the small, satisfied smile forming.

“Fuck Akaashi, I dunno how you do it, but you’ve got _me_ worn out,” Kuroo informed him, equally winded with his head tilted back, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed dryly.

Kuroo was sitting upright in the seat behind the driver’s side with Akaashi stretched out on the backseat, legs resting across the older boy’s lap as they tried to catch their breaths.

“Oh really? Even the insatiable Kuroo can’t go longer than three rounds?” Akaashi teased lightly, arm thrown across his eyes as his body slumped, completely relaxed and buck-ass naked. Now, if only he had a—

“Cigarette?” Kuroo offered, and Akaashi heard the flick of a lighter.

Unable to hide a grin, Akaashi opened his eyes and leaned forward to pluck a cig from the pack offered to him. Kuroo, always the gentleman, took the liberty of lighting it for him.

Akaashi flopped back, a content sigh leaving him with the smoke he exhaled.

“Really? _You’re_ calling _me_ insatiable? Most people can’t even last two with me, and here you are, complaining about three not being enough,” Kuroo griped, cracking a window to flick his ash out of.

Akaashi couldn’t help but chuckle, squirming into an upright position.

“That says more about you than it does me,” he replied cheekily, and Kuroo rolled his eyes, seeming to grow upset.

Frowning at the mood shift, Akaashi wordlessly finished his cigarette, waiting for an explanation.

Kuroo wouldn’t meet his eyes and instead got another cigarette of his own, puffing on it silently as he glared out the window.

Akaashi was about to explain he was only joking when Kuroo spoke up.

“All I’m sayin’ is it takes some real practice to get to your level.”

A dry, surprised laugh erupted from Akaashi, morphing into a cough from the smoke haze surrounding them.

“I don’t know if I should be flattered or if you’re calling me a whore,” he said, wondering what the hell Kuroo’s problem was all of a sudden.

Was he still on about the Bokuto thing?

Kuroo made a frustrated noise and threw out his cigarette butt, rolling up the window definitively.

“I’m not saying you’re a whore, I’d just like some heads-up before you go fucking around with other guys,” he growled, turning to Akaashi to fix him with a petulant glare.

Taken aback, Akaashi could only reply, “I wasn’t under the impression we were exclusive.”

Kuroo’s glare didn’t let up, but he grabbed Akaashi by the back of the neck and pulled him in, kissing him roughly.

“Maybe we should be,” was all he said, releasing the younger boy.

Akaashi blinked at him, dazed and confused.

“Kuroo, don’t tell me you’re—Are you _jealous_?” he asked incredulously, eyebrows raised.

The punk didn’t answer verbally, but jerked his shoulders in a shrug.

“I dunno, I guess. I mean, I sure as hell didn’t like what I saw with you n’ Bo. And I’m not crazy about the idea of you and someone else goin’ at it. But I’m not gonna take you out to dinner or anything either, so I don’t want to make a big deal out of it,” Kuroo admitted.

Akaashi had no idea how to respond.

He cast his gaze around as if any of the inanimate objects around might answer for him, but instead, the clock on the dashboard caught his eye.

“Shit, I need to be home,” he said, quickly snatching his boxers off the floorboards and tugging them on.

His mom was up his ass enough as it was, and if he was late for dinner, he’d never hear the end of it; just because she’d been in a good mood earlier didn’t mean anything.

Kuroo snorted, unamused, but didn’t protest and went about dressing as well.

The drive back to Akaashi’s house was uncomfortable to say the least, punctuated by the fact Kuroo refused to turn on the radio and suddenly felt the need to be a law-abiding citizen, going the exact 45 miles-per-hour speed limit the entire way.

Eventually, about ten minutes into the tense ride, Akaashi spoke up.

“You’ve severely overestimated me if you think I’m getting any action other than you,” he said, staring out the window in the darkening twilight. What he didn’t say was Kuroo was the first person he’d been with since Konoha, making him the first person he’d been with _besides_ Konoha. He’d never been great at no-strings-attached type things, but now that the idea of exclusivity was on the table, the idea struck a bad chord in his chest.

Kuroo snorted again at that, this time from real amusement.

“Which shocks me, by the way. I swear, I have no clue how you don’t have dudes lined up down the block for even a taste test of you,” he replied, finally seeming to return to normal, at least slightly.

A moment later, he added, “If you say you’re not with anyone else, I believe you, alright? All I’m saying is I’d like things to stay that way.”

Again, while he should be flattered, all Akaashi could feel was building dread.

“Fuck dude, you’re white as a ghost. Shit, I don’t mean like we’re _dating_ , I just mean we don’t get down to business with anyone else. Y’know, like instead of just fuck buddies, we’re, like, friends with benefits. And you can say no, it’s not some big deal,” Kuroo explained quickly upon seeing his expression, and Akaashi forced himself to breathe.

Kuroo pulled into Akaashi’s driveway, throwing the Tercel into park as he awaited an answer.

Loosing a breath through puffed cheeks, Akaashi found himself slowly nodding.

 _“I mean, it’s not like that even changes anything,”_ he thought to himself.

Kuroo’s feral grin had returned, and he said, “Nice,” before unlocking the car doors to release Akaashi.

“You walk home right?” he called as the younger boy clambered out of the car, and Akaashi nodded again.

“Well, not anymore,” Kuroo replied, then, once Akaashi was fully freed from the vehicle, he took off without explanation.

Akaashi didn’t know what else to do other than turn around and walk into his house, where he smelled English style hamburger.

“Hi sweetie! Dinner’s almost ready. Afterwards some of the ladies are coming over for book club,” his mother greeted him, and he gave her an appreciative smile for sparing him of a lecture.

After dinner, Akaashi retreated to his room, where he took a brisk shower before flopping onto his bed to do the schoolwork he had missed that day. He considered putting on one of his Zeppelin records, but was too lazy to get back up and instead chose to flip on the small portable radio he kept on his bedside table by a half-empty water bottle.

“ _’Well come on and let me know, should I stay or should I go’,_ ” hummed through the small radio, and Akaashi groaned as the song continued.

“Oh fuck me slow and sweet,” he swore, ripping off the jacket he’d put back on after his shower without thinking.

What was he _thinking_ , letting Bokuto’s hoodie touch his bare skin like that? More importantly, why was it whenever he got to a good place with Kuroo, that stupid owl boy had to be thrown in his face by the universe?

Well, he’d learned long ago the universe was spelled with a V for vicious vendetta against a Mr. Keiji Akaashi, so he didn’t know why he was even surprised anymore.

He slapped the portable radio until it stopped making noise and forced himself to his feet, marching over to his record player and flipping it on to play the album by The Smiths that he’d had on before.

“ _’Stop me, oh, stop me, stop me if you think you’ve heard this one before. Nothing’s changed, I still love you, oh, I still love you, only slightly, only slightly less than I used to, my love’_.”

Akaashi considered bashing his head against the wall, but resolved to launch himself onto his bed and scream his lungs empty into a pillow as his ears were forcefully penetrated with reminders of his emotional shortcomings all around.

Downstairs, Mrs. Akaashi was peppered with questions from the neighborhood book club ladies about what that awful sound coming from upstairs was.

~

The following day at school was Tuesday, Akaashi’s least favorite day of the week. Mondays were pretty manageable, as he was still in the weekend stupor, allowing him to coast listlessly through the day. Wednesdays were one-hour early release for teacher meetings, so they were tolerable, though sometimes they felt longer when faced with the expectation that they should feel shorter. Thursday was the day before Friday. Friday was the day before the weekend, and, recently, the day Akaashi got to let loose a little.

English was nothing out of the ordinary, with Akaashi bearing the weight of the class’s incompetence and begrudgingly raising his hand to answer the teacher when no one else felt inclined to do so. Blah blah symbolism analysis pulled out of his ass, blah blah something about color theory as it pertained to the tone established by the author, and Akaashi was at full participation credit.

If nothing else, it offered a distraction to his distraction; with Kuroo suddenly becoming the jealous type, thinking of him didn’t hold the same appeal it used to, but there was enough thought still kicking around his head that he’d rather not address, like those stupid fucking songs reminding him of two certain fucking people that he did not want to have to fucking think about, thank you very much.

Biology rolled around, and a glimmer of light in the dark day of Tuesday appeared in the form of Kenma, sat in the back. Akaashi was never sure if his eyebags were naturally that dark and permanent, or if the smudged eyeliner adorning Kenma’s bored face simply found its way below his waterline. Kenma stifled a yawn behind a hand, mostly obscured by about four layers of black fabric of various textures and styles, only fingernails lathered in chipping obsidian nail polish visible. Akaashi always marveled at Kenma’s dedication to his looks; his growing-out roots went unnoticed among the rest of his brassy, do-it-yourself bleached hair, which was always carefully sculpted in sheets around his face; once he’d asked Kenma how he made his hair so stiff to the point of immobility, and he’d been given a shrug and a mild, “Glue,” in reply, as if it should’ve been obvious.

Akaashi slid into his seat at the front of Kenma’s row, pulling out the homework to be given a dull once-over by Mrs. Santhen as she passed, checking or X-ing beside her students’ names on her clipboard. He was itching for the assignment, when he’d be granted the opportunity to partner up with Kenma and download the events of the previous day to get his take on things. After all, he was Kuroo’s best friend, aside from Bokuto; who better to consult?

Ten minutes filled with fidgeting and pen-cap-biting later, the class was given the option of partner work, and Akaashi all but dashed down the row to where Kenma sat slumped in his seat, doodling what looked like a pentagram surrounded by daisies.

“Kenma,” he said, voice annoyingly desperate to his own ears as he slid into the seat vacated beside his friend.

He didn’t bother looking up, but acknowledged, “Akaashi.”

Akaashi took a deep breath and let it out nervously, leg pouncing, pen twirling, earning him a full sentence.

“Jesus. Too much coffee?”

Another deep breath before Akaashi shook his head again.

“No, no. It’s, um, well…. I need to talk to you about something,” he forced out, then quickly pretending to be working went he felt the teacher’s gaze on him.

This time it was Kenma that sighed, setting down his pen and folding his arms.

“Alright, out with it then,” he prompted, blowing an impressive bubble with his pink bubblegum and snapping it back into his mouth with the ease of an expert.

Before he could back out, Akaashi decided to go full steam ahead, talking quickly as he confessed, “Okay well basically Kuroo and I have been…. Well. We’ve been…. Um. Hooking up, alright? And it’s been really nice, not just the physical stuff, he’s just a good guy, y’know? But then I was introduced to Bokuto and we really have had a bumpy friendship in the few weeks I’ve known him, I mean really, the guy is an absolute nuisance, he’s insanely annoying. He’s always stealing my food and giving me things and my _God_ Kenma, the man’s music taste is _abhorrent_. Well, he likes the Clash, so I guess that’s _one_ redeemable quality, but I’ve about had it with all the rest. _Any_ way, the main problem is yesterday. So Bokuto was being annoying as per usual, he was pouting about something, God knows what. He was demanding I give him my yogurt or something at lunch, and he started wrestling me for it, and we somehow ended up in this really compromising position. Naturally, since I’m despised by the universe, Kuroo happens upon us like that, and he gets all upset, then Bokuto is upset, and my _stomach_ is upset, so I said fuck it and went home. But there’s more! Bokuto stopped by the nurse’s office to check on me and we got in this dumb argument, he gave me his hoodie and called me a liar, which I don’t take very kindly to. So when I got home I took a nap, but then who of all people but Kuroo shows up at my door and whisks me away and we, um, well, we do what we do. And after that Kuroo suddenly ambushes me with all this shit about, like, sexual exclusivity or something, and I didn’t know what to do so I just agreed, it’s not like I’m seeing anyone else anyway, but I just feel like utter shit. Oh, and as icing on the cake, Konoha is haunting me and songs I like are making me think of him. And songs on the radio remind me of Bokuto. So, what do you think?”

The bubble Kenma had been working on popped of its own accord.

“Fuck, dude,” he said, regrouping with another block of bubble gum added to the sizable hunk he already worked in his jaw.

Akaashi nodded, agreeing with the sentiment as he raked a hand through his already-disheveled hair. He’d hardly gotten any sleep, and the cup of coffee he’d had before school was for flavor alone; for whatever reason, caffeine didn’t do much for him aside from taste good and keep headaches at bay.

After a new bubble and a finished doodle, Kenma seemed to have finished contemplating Akaashi’s dilemma, and began speaking.

“Well one thing you have to get straight is Kuroo isn’t this hotshot player guy he tries to make everyone think he is. He’s got, like, actual _feelings_ , and a brain in there, small as it might be. He’s not exactly celibate or anything, but he won’t get with just anyone. But I think the real problem here is Bokuto,” Kenma informed him, picking at his nail polish for most of his statement, but making sure to punctuate his sentence with an intense blink up to Akaashi’s eyes.

Akaashi rolled his own eyes and nodded, dropping his chin into his propped-up hand and replying, “Yeah, tell me about it.”

Kenma’s dark-lined gaze didn’t let up as he deadpanned, “You like him.”

The accusation alone sucker punched Akaashi in the gut so hard he lost his breath with a choked exhale.

“Mother _fuck_ , Kenma, you can’t just say shit like that,” he growled, beginning to grow nervous he’d actually pass the fuck out from how lightheaded and nauseous he was feeling.

Kenma gave an unapologetic shrug.

“You mention him all the time,” he explained blandly, resuming his doodling with the air that it was much more interesting than Akaashi’s dawning crisis.

Akaashi shook his head aggressively, knee bouncing.

“Yeah, I mention how _annoying_ he is,” he argued, biting the loose skin off his bottom lip.

Kenma let out a single, amused exhale through his nose.

“Don’t be stupid, Akaashi; you know just as well as I do that ‘annoying’ is Akaashi Lingo for ‘super funny and attractive’, AKA the two criteria for you to crush on someone.”

Akaashi opened his mouth to counter the point, hoping something would come to him, but only a pathetic croaking sound scraped out of his throat before he jumped in his seat from the bell sounding overhead.

Kenma just shook his head and sighed, almost like he pitied him.

“Call me later if you want, I’ll be free. Then we can discuss the _real_ reason you’re scared of commitment and admitting your feelings,” he said, packing up his doodle carefully before shoving the rest of his loose papers into his half-zipped bookbag and taking off for his class.

The idea didn’t exactly appeal to Akaashi, but he nodded anyway, dazed as he returned to his desk and collected his own materials.

Kenma was full of shit. Annoying meant _annoying_ , and nothing else, certainly not as it pertained to a certain grey-haired owl-incarnate wrapped in leather. As lunch approached, dread continued to pool in his stomach at the thought of seeing Bokuto, and Akaashi wished he could go home early again. Alas, it would be too suspicious to leave two days in a row, and he couldn’t afford to miss any more instruction.

So, Akaashi forced himself to man up as he approached the cafeteria, and resolved to simply ignore Bokuto.

_“How hard can it be? I ignore people all the time.”_

Hard. Very hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm working on a playlist for this fic, would anyone be interested in the link? please let me know!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLOOO! i apologize for the longer wait for an update BUT i tried to make up for it with a longer chapter! reading all of yalls kind comments never fails to bring tears to my eyes, i could not begin to express how grateful i am to each and every one of my readers. it warms my heart knowing my writing is being enjoyed :"))  
> ALSO! for those interested, i'll be linking my Strangers of the Heart playlist in the additional notes down at the bottom!

Chapter 9

Akaashi

“You’re _SO_ FOS, dude. Godzilla would _smoke_ King Kong. It wouldn’t even be close,” Iwaizumi was raving, a Coca Cola can crushed in his fist in his passion.

Bokuto shook his head adamantly, slapping his hands down onto the lunch tabletop before he leapt to his feet and declared, “You are so DUMB! You really think some stupid angry lizard can take on a giant fuckin’ monkey? Monkeys are basically people, they’re super, like, smart n’ shit. King Kong would thrash Godzilla with his brains. OO-OO AH-AH, bitch!”

He swiveled to his right for support, confidently asking, “Right, ‘kaashi?”

The Akaashi in question had a pained expression on his face as he pinched the bridge of his nose; it was becoming evident to him ignoring Bokuto wasn’t just hard; it was impossible. Ignoring Bokuto was beyond the capabilities of a mere mortal such as himself, weak and frail with his limited lifespan and even more limited patience.

So, resigning to his fate, Akaashi heaved a heavy sigh and replied, “Sure, Bokuto. Sure.”

He tuned back out as Bokuto hooted his victory, making faces at Iwaizumi while the latter argued that it didn’t prove anything.

Akaashi had made it approximately three minutes into lunch ignoring Bokuto before Bokuto had emerged from the lunch line and plopped a muffin in front of him, like it was the oldest and most natural habit in his itinerary.

He shouldn’t’ve thought anything of it, really.

It was just a stupid muffin.

But Kenma’s uninflected voice kept ringing incessantly in his head, on an endless loop of _“youlikehimyoulikehimyoulikehim”_ and instead of his usual, “Thank you, Bokuto” he’d become a disgusting blushing mess and had stuttered out, “Y-You don’t—Why would you—Stop it. Thanks. Okay bye.”

Only to take his seat beside the older boy, of course. Bokuto didn’t say anything, but looked at him with that look of mild confusion, half smiling, as if confusion was his natural state and he didn’t mind it much. Akaashi could practically see the cogs in his head trying to figure out of he ought to be concerned or not, and, seeming to conclude nothing was seriously wrong, Bokuto just beamed at him and said, “No problem!”

Naturally, Akaashi had no choice but to drop his forehead to the table and erect a barrier around his face with his arms to keep Bokuto from noticing his rose-red cheeks at the easy, carefree smile that had been bestowed upon him.

Ten minutes passed with him like that, refusing to respond to Bokuto as he kept up a steady stream of chatter about nothing in particular. The topic jumped from football game stats to his room being too cold at night before finally landing on the King Kong v. Godzilla debate.

That having died down, Bokuto now was discussing his disdain for school in general as Akaashi ate his yogurt wordlessly.

“—so dumb, why the hell do we have to read these boring-ass books? I’m a senior for fuck’s sake, they could at least teach me about, like, taxes. We’re reading that stupid Frankenstein book right now. Did you know it’s the _scientist_ that’s called Frankenstein and not the monster?! My mind was _blown_! I feel so lied to! Anyway, I have a 53 in the class and my teacher said if I don’t pull my grade up I’ll have to repeat a semester of high school in order to graduate, so that sucks I guess,” he rambled, and despite his best efforts, Akaashi felt his attention snag.

“I can tutor you,” he said without thinking. English was his one skill; why not extend his gift to a friend in need?

_“You are so Goddamned stupid,”_ was his first thought after realizing what he’d just done.

Still, unaware of his immediate regret, Bokuto lit up like a Christmas tree.

“ _Really?!_ That would be so amazing! You’re really a lifesaver, I tell ya, I dunno what I’d do without you,” he blathered, latching to himself to Akaashi in a rib-crushing hug.

“So, my place? What time? I can drive you! You wanna do it today or some other time? I think my next quiz is on, uhhhh, Friday maybe? So you can come over Thursday! Or if you’re free, tomorrow _and_ Thursday!” Bokuto continued at light speed.

There was no way out of the grave he’d dug for himself, so all Akaashi could do was mumble, “Um, I’ll have to check with my mom, but I think that’ll work.”

Bokuto scrunched up his face up happily, cheering, “Yayy!!” before hopping to his feet and taking off, calling over his shoulder to explain he had to pick up some assignments from his teacher.

Akaashi dropped his chin into a propped-up hand as he munched on Bokuto’s leftover tots thoughtfully.

Well, it couldn’t be _that_ bad, right? They’d just be studying the whole time, and Akaashi always enjoyed imparting his literary knowledge upon others. He’d already read _Frankenstein_ on his own, so he’d just have to do a precursory skim to refresh his memory to best help tutor Bokuto. Despite how he might come across, Bokuto was by no means stupid, so it’d just be a matter of explaining the text in a way that made sense to him.

Shouldn’t be too hard, considering Akaashi had somehow become known as the Bokuto Whisperer.

Having instilled himself with enough meager confidence to not throw himself in front of a fast-moving car later, Akaashi threw his two cents into Hinata’s adamant conversation with Yamaguchi.

He wasn’t entirely sure on the context, but from what he’d overheard, the freckle-faced boy was experiencing some angst over a former friend, so Akaashi simply advised, “It’s probably best to consider motive,” before wiping the tater tot grease off on his jeans and standing to throw out his and Bokuto’s forgotten trash.

The bell rang a moment later, and Akaashi wished the day would just end already. He always grew lethargic after eating, making the rest of the day drag on and on and _on_. Still, his next class was history, so he’d find a way to power through.

~

The rest of the day had, predictably, taken about three decades to finally wrap up, and Akaashi’s eyes nearly teared with relief when the final bell dismissed him from his last class.

He trudged through the packed halls, occasionally jostled by an over-zealous fellow student sprinting for the buses at full speed. Akaashi was too out of it to do much more than let out an annoyed sigh and push his glasses back up his nose from where they’d been knocked down.

As he meandered towards the exit, he began his usual nonstop stream of inner reflection that kept him company on the walk home, pondering anything from trying to remember when his father had last been home to wondering if it was worth it to scrub his scuffed up Chucky T’s if they were only going to get dirty again.

Overtired, a small shudder wracked his body when the chilly autumnal air rustled through his hair, but once he was fully outside, the sun broke through the overcast skies to warm him.

If he had to pick, Akaashi would say this was his favorite weather; a melancholy tinge from the grey sheet of clouds overhead, with the weak sunlight battling to warm the people down below, nonetheless. There was something deeply nostalgic about it, so essential and raw but too vague to fully identify. If he was a believer in past lives, Akaashi would be inclined to attribute the overpowering feeling to something that must’ve happened to him in a lifetime lost to his memory.

In this lifetime, though, he was lost in thought, watching dead oak leaves skitter across the sidewalk before his feet.

That is, before someone laid on their horn on the road right beside him and he jumped about twice his height into the air.

“YO DIPSHIT, WHATCHA DOIN’?” a familiar voice called to him, and Akaashi slapped a hand to his pounding heart before swiveling around to see Kuroo leaning out the window of that Godforsaken Tercel.

He was about to demand something similar of him before it dawned on him: he was supposed to be driven home by Kuroo that day.

Embarrassed, he wordlessly walked over to where Kuroo had pulled over and yanked open the passenger door and sliding into the seat.

“I forgot,” Akaashi explained tersely, hoping he didn’t look as awkward as he felt. In light of the Bokuto revelation, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to fling himself at Kuroo or avoid him like the plague.

Kuroo snorted, a bemused smile spreading across his lips.

“Yeah, I kinda figured,” he said, casually placing his right hand on Akaashi’s thigh as he maneuvered back into traffic and drove in the direction of home.

Right then. Decision made.

“Um. Are you free later?”

Kuroo looked over at him slyly, as if he already knew what effect he had on Akaashi, but shook his head.

“I wish. I’ve got work, but if you work hard to convince me, I might try to get someone to cover my shift,” he replied, giving Akaashi’s thigh a teasing squeeze that made his head spin.

Still, he was a stubborn thing, and had nothing if not his pride, so he thrust all X-rated thoughts from his mind and focused on what had really piqued his curiosity.

“I didn’t know you had a job.”

He didn’t know much of anything about Kuroo, come to think of it, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to; it might ruin the casual nature of what they had going, and he couldn’t have that.

Kuroo, to his surprise, squirmed slightly.

“Yeah, well. It’s a bit embarrassing. I hate it there, but the money’s pretty good, so I just suffer through it,” he grumbled, dark-lined eyes avoiding Akaashi’s inquisitive, bemused expression.

“Maybe I’ll come visit you,” Akaashi commented, enjoying watching Kuroo being the nervous, less confident one for once.

Kuroo laughed uncomfortably, answering, “Yeah, no. I’d rather not have you see me like that.”

Leaning over for a kiss with his eyes half on the road, he added, “Besides, you’d only distract me.”

Akaashi was having far too much fun with this as he playfully pushed Kuroo’s face away, telling him, “No. Not until you tell me where you work. I’m sure it isn’t that horrible.”

Kuroo let out a groan and pulled away.

Hiding a smile, Akaashi crossed his arms.

“Fine, if you won’t tell me, I’ll just ask Kenma, _Kuro_ ,” he said lightly, but when he looked over for Kuroo’s grumpy expression, he found a genuine frown.

“Easy now; only Kenma calls me that,” he said, tone mild, but Akaashi was smart enough to read between the lines: _“And he’s the only one allowed.”_

Akaashi considered asking Kenma anyway, but seeing how Kuroo had removed his hand from him as a sign of minor distancing, he decided it was probably best not to press the issue.

“I apologize again for forgetting you had offered to drive me home, I really appreciate it,” Akaashi told him, attempting to change the subject and bring back the playful air from moments ago.

Kuroo seemed to hesitate a moment, but then plastered on his usual arrogant smirk before replying, “Anything for you, sweetcheeks.”

A few minutes later they arrived in front of Akaashi’s house, and Kuroo stole a thank-you kiss before Akaashi hopped out.

As Kuroo drove off and Akaashi approached the front door, he heard muffled raised voices, and his stomach dropped.

_“Of all the fuckin days to show up, why a Tuesday?”_ he thought to himself, swearing under his breath as he rifled through his front backpack pocket for the lanyard with his keys.

Of course, the front door was already unlocked, and he knew this; it was a partially unconscious, primarily conscious stalling tactic. He had half a mind to chase after Kuroo’s busted Toyota and implore him to take him away from there, but running away wouldn’t solve anything.

Sooner or later, he’d have to go home and face his father.

Steeling his nerves and chiding himself for being a pussy, Akaashi nervously cracked his knuckles before gripping the front doorknob and turning it.

Neither of his parents heard the door open over their shouting match, so Akaashi just silently slipped off his shoes and fought back the nausea instantly coiling around his gut.

He closed his eyes against the oncoming headache, briefly removing his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose before returning them.

“—THINK YOU GET TO JUST WALTZ IN HERE WHENEVER YOU FUCKING WANT SOMETHING? WHENEVER YOUR LATEST WHORE KICKS YOU OUT?”

_Pound_ , went Akaashi’s head.

“OH LIKE YOU’RE SO FUCKING INNOCENT, DRINKING ALL THE TIME, NEVER DOING ANYTHING FOR YOUR HUSBAND!”

_Clench_ , went Akaashi’s gut.

A mirthless, maniacal laugh.

“You’re never _FUCKING_ here, so WHEN WOULD I EVEN GET THE CHANCE?”

A hand slapping down onto the linoleum countertop.

“Oh really? Who the fuck would want to be here with _you_?! You NEVER shut the fuck UP! You’re a fucking _HOUSEWIFE_ , NO ONE GIVES A SHIT WHAT YOU THINK!”

A shriek and glass shattering.

“ _GET OUT!_ ”

Akaashi swallowed the lump in his throat and forced one unsteady foot in front of the other, dragging himself from the entryway and into view.

A moment’s hesitation.

“Oh NOW look what you’ve done! YOU’RE RUINING OUR SON!”

Akaashi shoved his trembling hands into his pockets and continued wordlessly to the stairs, up, up, up, before pushing open the door and shutting it quietly.

He absently flicked the lock and leaned his backpack against the wall gingerly.

One step, then one more, then a few others, and he sat softly on the edge of his bed.

Unclear voices continued to rage downstairs, and Akaashi distantly wished he had a Walkman.

Maybe he’d ask for one for his birthday, or Christmas; they weren’t far apart, so he usually only got one or two presents for his birthday, but it didn’t matter much now that he was older.

His nose was running, and he distantly wiped at his dampened cheeks.

Some new books would be nice too.

A choked sob slipped from its cage in his throat, and Akaashi yanked off his glasses and threw them on the bedside table, pressing the balls of his hands against his eyes hard enough to see galaxies explode behind his eyelids.

“Fuck, _fuck_ , fuck,” he whimpered, teeth clenched so hard they hurt.

He was so _tired_.

In seventeen years, he’d never seen his parents get along for more than a few weeks at a time. Eventually, his father had just stopping coming home from work. He’d return to the house occasionally, but it never lasted very long, either because Akaashi’s mother would kick him out again or he’d leave of his own volition.

When he was younger, he’d been close with his father; it was him that had introduced Akaashi to wide varieties of music, and had encouraged him to apply himself in school.

As he got older though, his dad wasn’t around much anymore, and it was hard to have a relationship with someone that was a bit of a piece of shit.

Even though he understood his mother wasn’t the easiest person to live with, there was no excuse for the way his old man treated her.

Usually she just took it; she’d put up with it and shove her own feelings aside, deeper and deeper down until they pressurized, and she exploded.

Akaashi seemed to have inherited a similar modus operandi for handling his emotions, unfortunately.

Still, though, not once in his entire life had he ever exploded.

Increasingly, it was beginning to feel inevitable.

He knew it would be the ugliest mess on God’s green earth, but he didn’t know any other way to deal with himself than to delay going nuclear.

“The Soviets got nothin’ on me,” he mumbled, a hollow laugh pushing from his chest.

He sniffed the trailing snot back into his nose and let out a stuffy groan, pushing off his knees to stand and approach his record player. Blindly, he chose a record sleeve and slipped out an album, robotically switching it out with whatever he’d had on before. It was from instinct alone that he dropped the needle before flopping back-first onto his bed, throwing an arm over his eyes as Tears for Fears slipped through the airwaves from the turntable.

Between the soothing music and his exhausted state, it didn’t take long for Akaashi to be lulled into a fitful sleep.

~

Wednesday. Early release, meaning class started forty minutes early. After hauling his ass out of bed to find he only had ten minutes to get ready if he ran to school instead of walking, Akaashi swore up a storm and yanked on a pair of acid wash jeans and a maraschino cherry-colored Red Cross t-shirt, then, recalling the morning chill, an orchid-purple oversized crewneck sweatshirt. No time for hair styling, it was a rushed tooth-scrubbing and deodorant-applying two minutes in the bathroom before he grabbed his backpack and rushed down the stairs, a fresh pair of socks clenched in his mouth as he used his free hand to rub the sleep from his eyes and pushed his glasses down from his hair onto his face.

Whining at his lack of coffee, Akaashi forced his feet into the grey Chuck Taylors beside the door before shoving his remaining arm through his backpack strap and flinging himself through the front door.

After such a hectic last sixteen hours, all Akaashi wanted was approximately one gallon of coffee and half a pack of cigarettes. He knew he must’ve looked like hell, and Kenma told him as much in biology, but it was a lecture day, so there wasn’t time to explain anything.

It was all he could do to not lock himself in the bathroom until the school day ended, but more than anything, he wished the gaping numbness in his chest would let up. As lunch came around, Akaashi was more robotic than ever, barely even nodding to the lunch table before going into the line. There was only one cup size, so Akaashi bought two coffees and a water bottle, stomach too upset to handle any actual food.

Returning to the table, he sat heavily in his usual seat at the end of the bench, knee bouncing from nervous energy or nicotine cravings, he wasn’t sure. A tired groan escaped him as he pushed his glasses into his hair, closing his eyes against the too-bright florescent lights and losing himself in the din of lunchroom chatter.

He sipped the too-hot coffee tentatively, finding it to be, unsurprisingly, as weak as ever. Still, it got the job done of warming and caffeinating him, and Akaashi couldn’t be bothered to muster the energy to be upset by the shitty quality.

“AAAKAAAAAASHIIII!” boomed a familiar voice not far behind him, startling Akaashi.

The war cry served as a warning for the muscular arms that found themselves wrapping around Akaashi’s neck loosely from behind, and the chin digging into the top of his head immediately following.

His glasses clattered off his head and onto the tabletop, and he made an irritated noise in the back of his throat.

“Get _off_ me, Bokuto,” Akaashi growled, returning his glasses to his face.

Bokuto whined in protest but complied, sliding himself in the slot beside Akaashi that was just for him.

“You okay? You seem weird,” he inquired, but Akaashi just clenched his jaw and finished the first cup of God-awful coffee.

He felt those golden eyes scanning over him, no doubt taking note of the two coffees, the dark circles beneath his reddened eyes, the side of his head still slightly matted from where he’d briefly fallen asleep in biology.

Akaashi knew better than to hope he wouldn’t bring it up, but it didn’t stop him from trying.

“Hey, c’mon, none of that cold shoulder shit,” Bokuto coaxed, placing a warm palm on Akaashi’s forearm lightly, tentatively. “You can talk to me.”

It was stupid.

It was totally, utterly absurd.

The only way to describe it was complete lunacy.

But those pleading eyes, and that gentle touch, and the earnest way he spoke was worming its way under Akaashi’s skin.

Later, Akaashi would chalk it up to just having been overtired.

Still, in the moment, he operated entirely in autopilot as he reached over and grabbed the arm of Bokuto’s jacket sleeve, hard enough to leave little crescent nail indents in the leather, before standing dragging him up as well.

Wordlessly, Akaashi fought the lump in his throat as he pulled Bokuto along out of the cafeteria, out into the biting cold air, back into the main hallway, and back outside again to a secluded corner where no one would find them.

It was only then that Akaashi’s voice returned and croaked out of him, his words tripping on a sob on their way out.

“My dad came home.”

And then his glasses were fogging because tears are hot and the air was cold and he stood there, just stood there, with a delinquent punk watching him, hugging himself as his lips wobbled and his eyes leaked fat droplets. His ears were ringing like tornado sirens.

Akaashi shut his eyes tight, scrunching up his face like a child, but it didn’t do much to combat the emotional attack, and a hiccupped cry snuck out of his mouth.

The cold was seeping through his two layers like ice water, penetrating to his core, making his bones rattle and his teeth chatter.

Just as quick as it came, though, the cold receded, and was replaced with a tentative, slow-blossoming warmth.

That grudging warmth was provided courtesy of the heavy leather jacket that had been draped over his shoulders, and the thick arms gathering him close to a broad chest with a hammering heart.

A low, gentle voice combatted the ringing in his ears, and after a moment, Akaashi was able to make out proper words being murmured against his temple.

“Hey, hey, shhh, it’s alright. It’s alright, I’ve got you, okay? It’s okay.”

Bokuto’s hot breath tickled his ear, but the comfort of being crushed securely against another human being vastly outweighed any downside.

Without having realized it, Bokuto’s firm but gentle hand had eased Akaashi’s head down against his shoulder and was now soothingly stroking his hair as he wailed into Bokuto’s neck.

Between the jacket wrapped around him and the firm body he was pressed against, Akaashi was swathed in the smell of Bokuto, and he couldn’t help but draw the scent deep into his lungs; leather and hair gel and something heavier and almost exotic, combining to be the smell Akaashi had come to associate with the punk.

A cutting wind rushed past them, spurring hard shivers from Akaashi’s frame. Bokuto just held him tighter, so hard it almost hurt, as increasingly uncontrollable sobs wracked his body.

“Easy now, _easy_. Let it out, but don’t make yourself sick, yeah? C’mon, easy does it. I’m right here, you hear me? I’m _right here_. I’m not going _anywhere_. I’m here as long as you need me, got it?” Bokuto cooed earnestly, removing his hand from Akaashi’s hair and pulling back slightly to use the sleeve of his black thermal to wipe at Akaashi’s damp cheeks.

Akaashi paused a moment, lifting his blurry eyes to Bokuto’s face. Even through the tears and less-than-20/20-vision, he could make out the determined light behind those golden eyes.

He had said it so easily, as if it wasn’t a promise, a commitment. He said it with the honesty and innocence similar to that of a child, free of condition or reimbursement. There was nothing complicated about it to Bokuto, Akaashi realized; he said it, therefore he’d do it, and that would be that.

Simple. Simple and beautiful.

Simple and beautiful and so specifically what Akaashi needed to hear in that exact moment that it hit him in the gut like a sucker punch, nearly forcing him to his knees.

“Th-th. _Thank you_ ,” he forced out in an embarrassing wail, but Bokuto didn’t seem to mind.

In fact, he gave him a small, tentative smile, and Akaashi’s vision blurred unrecognizably at the sight of it.

Bokuto informed him, “You’re not a burden, silly; I don’t mind at all.”

Without even really knowing why anymore, Akaashi bawled his eyes out right there in Bokuto’s arms for the rest of the lunch period, only stopping when the bell rang.

Realizing students would momentarily be flooding the halls, he flung himself away from Bokuto, scrambling to shuck off the leather jacket and handing it over.

For a moment they just stood there, unsure of what had happened, at a total loss for what to say next.

Bokuto cleared his throat and scratched his hair.

Akaashi watched the ants on the concrete and fiddled with his fingers.

“Erm. Well, uh. Yeah. Oh right! Let’s meet at the water fountain downstairs after seventh, okay? That way we can walk out to the parking lot together instead of you having to try to find me,” Bokuto said eventually, and Akaashi’s puffy eyes attempted to widen.

Of course.

How could he have forgotten he was supposed to tutor Bokuto later?

Cheeks flaming, he forced himself to nod tersely, then quickly left without another word.

Bokuto stared after him and snorted, shaking his head.

“Man. What am I gonna do with ya?” he muttered to himself, but didn’t bother fighting the fond smile tugging at his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are! it's nothing fancy, just a playlist i've thrown together that i listen to while working on this fic to keep me in the ~mood~ haha. it includes all the songs i reference in the fic, as well as many other songs i like and feel fit the proper vibes and certain scenes. anyway, thank yall once again for reading my fic, and i hope you enjoy the playlist too! just select and paste in a browser or whatever :)
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/02OqkiEe9Wg0SpXoVMznrh?si=RKOu9aFPTTWR4aXJzFE1Sg


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a little side note, this chap is fun to read if you listen to the songs as they are referenced heehee  
> ****PLEASE READ****  
> hey guys! this is more of a filler chapter. i'm sorry for taking like a month to update; i've recently started college, so that has taken priority. i will also say that this fic is very personal for me, i'll get into that more later, but basically i'm trying to put my mental health first and i'm just not in a place to properly write the next chapter. REST ASSURED, as soon as i can, i will! i will try to still update every few weeks/once a month, even if it's just "filler" content. either way, i give my all to my writing, and i'm so honored by how many people read and enjoy this fic<33

Chapter 10

Unsurprisingly, Akaashi had a hell of a time trying to focus in class for the remainder of the day. After any good cry he was typically engulfed with an all-consuming numbness; that time was no different, aside from the overtones of humiliation disrupting the apathy.

 _“God bless America, did I seriously do that? Was that a real thing I did? The fuck is wrong with me,”_ he thought to himself, begging seventh period to end already so he could at least apologize properly to Bokuto.

The other part of him was dreading the sight of Bokuto again, but Akaashi felt too indebted to avoid him like his instincts told him to. The memory of those strong arms holding him close, that heady scent of Bokuto wrapped tightly around him, wouldn’t stop playing in his mind.

Akaashi’s cheeks flamed each time he recalled it, but the worst part was he wasn’t even sure why, exactly.

He wanted to chalk it up to mere humiliation, but there was a nagging feeling in his gut that there was something more to it, each day growing harder and harder to deny.

It wouldn’t stop him from trying, though.

At long last the bell rang, and Akaashi took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. Actively procrastinating, he took his sweet time packing up his belongings before shuffling out of the classroom.

 _“I’m on the left end of the second floor. Bokuto will be waiting in the middle of the first-floor main hall. If I go across to the right end of this floor before going downstairs, walking slowly, it’ll take me almost seven minutes, taking the other students’ foot traffic into account,”_ he plotted shamelessly, rotating his neck in an attempt to release some of the tension stored in his shoulders.

He just prayed Bokuto had somehow miraculously forgotten what had happened three periods ago, and they could focus on _Frankenstein_ instead of Akaashi’s increasingly fragile mental stability.

As he approached the staircase leading to the first floor, Akaashi’s face began to heat once again as he recalled just how thoroughly he’d embarrassed himself.

For God’s sake, he had _sobbed in Bokuto’s arms_ ; it didn’t get much worse than a public breakdown over Mommy and Daddy fighting, as far as Akaashi was concerned. Shouldn’t he have been used to it?

Rounding the corner at the bottom of the staircase, Akaashi spotted Bokuto waiting at the designated water fountain, looking almost pensive, except it was _Bokuto_ , so pensiveness and confusion looked rather similar on his face.

Still, the sight of him reminded Akaashi of the first time he’d ever laid eyes on Bokuto, experiencing a similar rush of emotion.

It wasn’t as if Bokuto was doing anything different; he simply stood there, leaning back against the lockers beside the water fountain. He’d half-zipped his patch-covered leather jacket, and had his hands hidden within the pockets of his ripped high-rise jeans, peering in the direction opposite of Akaashi.

Akaashi watched as Bokuto’s Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, knocking his head back gently against the lockers. Impatient.

Even just watching him, rooted to the spot, Akaashi felt a strange tug in his gut, and a lightness filled his chest like he’d taken a big hit of a joint.

 _“He really is beautiful,”_ he reflected, eyes traveling from spiked hair he just _knew_ had to be soft and fluffy to the self-assured angle of Bokuto’s jaw, down more to the broad shoulders and the stretch of strong legs supporting the rest of him. All that was missing was his usual grin.

An instant later, Bokuto’s head rolled to the side, and he spotted where Akaashi was planted at the end of the hall.

Akaashi’s cheeks immediately flamed under his golden gaze, and he frowned behind his glasses.

He was prepared for the booming cry of his name from Bokuto’s lips, but instead, the older boy just raised a hand and waved, pushing off the lockers and approaching Akaashi.

_“Please don’t mention it, please don’t mention it, PLEASE don’t mention—”_

“Oh hey. Are you feeling better? I’ve been kinda worried,” Bokuto asked hesitantly, face drawn with evident concern.

Akaashi bit his lip but nodded wordlessly, then began walking towards the doors leading in the direction of the student parking lot.

The halls were mostly deserted aside from the occasional straggler heading towards an after-school club, but Akaashi still wasn’t comfortable discussing something so personal in a public space.

Bokuto, on the other hand, had no qualms about reaching out to snag Akaashi’s wrist, tugging him to face him.

“No bullshit. Look at me,” he insisted, and Akaashi sighed before forcing his eyes to Bokuto’s.

“Now was that so hard?” Bokuto teased, a small bemused smile creeping across his face.

Akaashi snorted and rolled his eyes, muttering, “You’re absurd. Really, I’m okay, so let’s just go.”

Bokuto released him, and they walked in silence on out the building and to the back of the parking lot to where the Jeep was jammed crookedly into a spot.

“You really can’t park worth a shit,” Akaashi commented as Bokuto unlocked the passenger door.

Bokuto gasped indignantly, swiveling to face him.

“Ak- _aashiiiii_! Take it back! Take it back!” he whined, full-on foot-stomping and crossing his arms like a toddler.

The visual of an almost 6’2” senior in high school decked out in leather and dark makeup with metal-studded ears throwing a God-awful _tantrum_ was too funny to not drag a begrudging chuckle from Akaashi. He quickly raised a hand to cover his smile, annoyed that something so ridiculous would make him laugh.

Bokuto, though, was staring at him unabashedly, and reached out, pulling Akaashi’s hand away from his face and revealing his smile.

“There we go,” he said quietly, almost to himself, “That’s what I’ve been waiting for.”

Akaashi averted his gaze, embarrassed, and pulled his hand from Bokuto’s grip.

“We should go. I’ll have to call my mom from your house so she doesn’t go ballistic when I’m late getting home,” he mumbled, scooting past Bokuto to clamber into the passenger seat.

Bokuto just nodded and shut the door after him, then rounded the Jeep and hopped into the driver’s seat.

“Let’s crank some tunes!” he declared, starting up the engine and flipping on the radio.

Akaashi groaned, dreading whatever pop-y drivel would blast from the Jeep’s stereo as Bokuto peeled out of the parking lot, damn near two-wheeling it around the corner onto the main road.

“OOOO I love this song!” Bokuto cried, indeed cranking the tunes as Blondie’s _Call Me_ pumped through the car. “COVER ME WITH KISSES, BABY, COVER ME WITH LO-OVE!”

Akaashi ducked down in the seat and covered his face with his hands, praying to God no one would recognize him with the maniac in the driver’s seat. Bokuto continued to belt out the lyrics until at last the song ended.

Unfortunately, Prince was up next.

“Hey, hey! AKAASHIIIII! You gotta sing with me! It’s no fun by myself,” Bokuto insisted, and Akaashi immediately shook his head vehemently.

“No way in Hell am I singing fucking _Kiss_ with you,” he grumbled, crossing his arms stubbornly, but Bokuto was only egged on further.

“HA! So you know it! Now you’ve got no excuse!” he squawked, grinning from ear to ear as he turned up the volume a few notches to drown out Akaashi’s attempted protests. “I JUST NEED YOUR BODY, BABYY, FROM DUSK TIL DAWN!”

Akaashi furrowed his brow, lips sealed tight.

Out of nowhere, Bokuto slammed on the breaks in the middle of the fucking road.

“I’m not moving this car until you sing along,” he said, immediately met with car horns and angry shouts from other teens leaving school.

Eyes widening to the size of tennis balls, Akaashi demanded, “Are you _insane_?”, turning around frantically to see how many cars were stuck behind them.

“Yup! Now come _onnn_ , I know you know it,” he responded happily, and Akaashi growled.

“Okay, okay, I will, just _go_ ,” he promised.

Bokuto cocked an eyebrow, waiting, and Akaashi thought he might scream.

“Y-You just leave it all up to me,” he mumbled, and Bokuto took his foot off the brake pedal, but didn’t accelerate.

“A little louder now,” he coaxed, seeming to revel in every second he spent torturing Akaashi.

“I’m gonna show you what it’s all about,” Akaashi sang, this time at normal volume, and Bokuto whooped victoriously, tires screeching as he took off.

As stupid as it was, when Bokuto joined him on the chorus, Akaashi felt a smile forming on his face as they belted out the lyrics together.

“YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE RICH, TO BE MY GIRL, YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE COOL TO RULE MY WORLD!” they shouted, and Akaashi dissolved into laughter when Bokuto waggled his eyebrows at him.

Bokuto finished, “I just want your extra tiiiime and your…. KISS!”, making obnoxious kissy faces that served only to make Akaashi shake his head, unable to remove the smile from his lips.

As the song continued, Bokuto’s energy died down, and he lowered the volume to properly talk.

“Thanks again for offering to tutor me,” he said, uncharacteristically serious.

Assuring him it was no trouble, Akaashi turned his attention out the window, enjoying the now-November nippy air biting at his cheeks and rustling his hair. The Jeep was going a solid twenty miles over the speed limit, and Bokuto kept drifting into the other lane, making Akaashi tense all over and chide him; despite this, Akaashi was surprised by how strangely calm he felt.

That is, until the next song came on.

Some song Akaashi recognized to be by Motley Crue caused Bokuto to turn up the volume even louder than before and got so excited he nearly rear-ended the car in front of them at the red light.

“Mother _fuck_ , Bokuto! Watch where you’re going!” Akaashi shouted over the music, slapping a hand to where his heart was pounding in his chest from the near-death experience.

Bokuto, on the other hand, didn’t seem very concerned, and gunned it when the light turned green. Swerving around the minivan and into the left lane, he cackled maniacally and flipped off the soccer mom inside before speeding off.

Going seventy and actively head-banging, Bokuto grinned over at Akaashi, proclaiming in time with the radio, “TAKE A RIDE ON THE WI-LD SIDE!”

Akaashi’s heart was thumping so hard he thought it’d pop right out of his damned ribcage, but when a laugh of his own came bubbling out, he didn’t dare suppress it.

It was some combination of a nervous, uncontrollable laugh, and the only sound capable of expressing how completely exhilarated he felt; it was like every nerve ending was lit up with lightning, electrocuting his system in the best way possible.

It was also possible he was riding an adrenaline high and feared for his life, but in Akaashi’s mind, the two emotions weren’t mutually exclusive.

And right there to share it with him was Bokuto, practically sparkling in the afternoon light, as beautiful as ever. The dead or dying trees rushed past like the backdrop of a headshot, with Bokuto as the focus. The wind ran through his hair like fingers, dragging from roots to ends with the gentle, possessive touch of a lover. His jubilant smile and shining eyes kept being gifted to Akaashi whenever the driver would look over at him, too long to be safe, but not long enough for Akaashi to study his face like he wanted to. His full lips continuing to mouth or mumble the lyrics to whatever song crossed the airwaves had ensnared Akaashi’s attention, and he watched as they curved or puckered or pulled back to properly shape each syllable.

He wanted to kiss him.

“NO! Fucking _NO._ ”

Damn. He’d said his thoughts out loud again.

Bokuto gave him a curious look, but instead of pressing him on it, he just turned away again, for once focused on the road.

Not long after, they pulled into the driveway of the Bokuto residence, a brick ranch-style with small windows and a red front door.

“Home sweet home,” Bokuto said, seeming slightly nervous as he watched for Akaashi’s reaction.

It dawned on Akaashi how large his own house must seem in comparison, and how that might be the source of Bokuto’s squirming.

Quickly, he pushed up his glasses and told him, “It seems lovely, thank you for having me over.”

Relaxing, Bokuto nodded happily and hopped out of the Jeep, grabbing his and Akaashi’s bookbags from the back as Akaashi clambered down.

Bokuto lead the way to the front door, throwing it open without further ado, tossing their bags down and leaning against the entryway wall once inside to yank off his clunky boots.

Akaashi followed his example and slid off his own shoes, placing them neatly beside where Bokuto had tosses his.

“Man, I’m starving! I’ll get us something to eat, then we’ll study, kay?” Bokuto suggested, shucking off his leather jacket and throwing it on the couch as he lollygagged through the living room on into the narrow kitchen.

Akaashi trailed after him, tense to be in an unfamiliar environment, and nodded once.

Bokuto’s house was…. Not what he’d been expecting.

Not that he really knew what he _had_ been expecting, exactly, but whatever it was, it wasn’t what that red door had opened to.

Worn down wood floors, scratched and uneven enough to be noticeable, covered the main living space, many mismatched threadbare rugs scattered about creating a cozy chaos oddly reminiscent of Bokuto.

The small square tv with tinfoil mounds atop its antenna had a crackly episode of The Golden Girls playing at a low volume in front of the lumpy green sofa placed before it and a single lamp lighting the space. On the coffee table was a soggy bowl of half-eaten Lucky Charms.

The kitchen, where Akaashi found Bokuto clattering around in the cupboard for a plate, was equally sporadically decorated, the walls adorned with peeling floral wallpaper and orange linoleum tile ran across the floor.

An outdated stove sat shoved between stained countertops, and the fridge was covered in overdue bills and pictures of an almost toothless young Bokuto holding various sports ribbons.

Frowning, Akaashi squinted at a photo of a beautiful young woman with a baby sat on her lap as trouble-child Bokuto made a face at the camera.

“Bokuto,” he said to get his attention, pointing to the photograph when the older boy turned around, “Who is the baby? It obviously can’t be you.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but at the exact moment he intended to explain, Akaashi heard a door in the back of the house burst open, followed by a banshee screech and a small girl racing into kitchen, shouting, “KOU! KOU! KOU! KOU!!” at the absolute top of her lungs.

Bokuto mimicked her and released a banshee cry of his own before snatching her up into his arms and flinging her around, spinning her this way and that as she broke apart in hysterics. After setting her back down, panting slightly, Bokuto introduced her.

“This is my little sister, Kelly. Kelly, this is AAGHKAASHI!” he gestured, panting slightly and beaming between the two of them.

Akaashi fiddled with his fingers nervously and corrected, “It’s really just Akaashi, I don’t know why he insists upon saying it like that. It’s nice to meet you, Kelly.”

Kelly was clinging to Bokuto as she watched him, lips puckered in concentration. Her eyes were more of a hazel color instead of gold, he noticed, though her hair was a mousy black Akaashi suspected was Bokuto’s natural color before he dyed it.

“ _Hmm_. You’re kinda awkward, aren’t cha. Well _I’m_ nine, and I wanted to see Kuroo! But I guess you’ll work. Let’s go play makeover, looks like it’d help you,” Kelly told him, grabbing the sleeve of his sweatshirt to drag him towards her room.

Akaashi shot a panicked look towards Bokuto, who just winked at him.

“Um, Kelly, I’m actually here to tutor your brother, so I can’t play today,” he explained quickly, bracing himself for her reaction.

She released him, crossing her arms as she looked him over.

“ _Kuroo_ always still plays with me when he comes over to tutor Kou,” she argued, and Akaashi blinked at her.

Kuroo? _Tutoring_?

“C’mon Kelly, give it a rest. I’ll play with you after Akaashi goes home, okay? Promise. Now run along,” Bokuto interrupted quickly, propelling the young girl in the direction of her room. Before she was all the way tucked away, she turned and called over her shoulder.

“Are you Kou’s new special friend like Kuroo was?”

Bokuto visibly winced and shoved her the rest of the way into her room, slamming the door shut before biting his lip and turning his attention to watch for Akaashi’s reaction.

Akaashi, on the other hand, just stared at him, struggling to even begin processing the implications of Kelly’s question.

He swallowed hard, reviewing what little information he had.

 _“Matching figurines. ‘So you bangin’ Bokuto now, huh?’ ‘We’ve been best friends for years, so it’s only natural’. ‘Bokuto’s a great guy, he really is’. Were they…? Did they used to…? Do they_ still _…?”_

Akaashi shoved the strange panic rising in him down, deep down, and instead of reacting, he simply said, “I need to let my mom know where I am so she doesn’t call the cops or some nonsense like that.”

Bokuto looked like he wanted to press the issue, but he just nodded and pointed to where a yellow house phone was mounted to the wall in the kitchen.

Annoyed with how shaky his hand was as he dialed, Akaashi shoved his hands into his pockets and pressed the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he waited.

Two rings, and his mother picked up.

“Hello?! Is it you, Keiji?”

Akaashi winced; she sounded pissed.

“Um, hey Mom, it’s me. I’m at a friend’s house to tutor him for English. I’ll be home around dinner. I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to mention it,” he said, bracing for her fury.

“Keiji I’ve been worried _sick_! You need to get your ass home, NOW. You don’t get to just wander off and do whatever you want, young man!” she squawked, and Akaashi suppressed a sigh, grabbing the phone.

“Mom, please. I just…. I needed somewhere else to go, okay? After last night. I just need some time out of the house. I won’t be long,” he told her in a lowered voice, glancing over at where Bokuto was yawning.

Silence as she considered his words, then she sighed.

“Alright, fine. I’d feel more comfortable if you were with someone I know, like Kenma, but I’ll allow it. Call me before you leave,” his mother said tightly, and he nodded adamantly.

“Thank you. I’ll even give you the address if you’d feel better. I’m just with my friend Bokuto, his little sister is here too,” Akaashi assured her, then gave her the street name upon request.

After a few more minutes of convincing her he wasn’t in a crack den, Akaashi hung up and removed his glasses to massage his eyes.

“So. You and Kuroo, huh?” he inquired flatly, keeping his eyes on the floor as Bokuto approached the kitchen.

Instead of replying, Bokuto said, “Hold on, we need snacks for this,”, rummaging in the small pantry. A moment later he produced a packet of cinnamon Poptarts.

Akaashi watched as he then grabbed a gallon of milk from the fridge, sniffed it, shrugged, then poured two glasses for them before returning it.

“C’mon, let’s talk in my room,” Bokuto called over his shoulder, holding both glasses with the Poptart packet tucked under his chin.

Akaashi debated whether to follow him or not, but his stomach gave a low grumble, and he was left no choice but to follow the food-bearer into his room.

 _“His…. Room. Bokuto’s bedroom. Where he has his bed,”_ his brain whispered, and he frowned deeply. Just what was his brain trying to imply?

The owner of the room in question set the glasses of milk on his nightstand before unceremoniously plopping down, patting the spot next to him. Akaashi was surprised by how relatively clean the space was; a small pile of dirty clothes occupied the laundry basket in the corner, but aside from some miscellaneous knickknacks, the room was pretty much mess-free.

Akaashi was always deeply uncomfortable in new rooms, but the tension was all the worse with Bokuto. He was left no choice, though, when Bokuto opened up the Poptart foil and held one out to him.

He sat awkwardly on the bed beside Bokuto, nervous to relax, and nibbled on a corner of his Poptart.

Bokuto ate half the damned thing in one bite and decided it was a good time to start talking.

“Yeah, me n’ Kuroo used to date. It was, like, a million years ago though, end of our first year. We’re just way better off as friends. It was never anything serious,” he shared, voice muddled as the Poptart got stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Akaashi nodded contemplatively, continuing to bite the crust off around the perimeter of the cinnamon treat to best enjoy the frosted middle.

“Would he actually tutor you, or is that just what you’d tell Kelly you were doing while you fucked?” he inquired blandly, taking a sip from one of the milk glasses.

Bokuto’s eyes widened to the size of saucers and he nearly choked on another massive bite of Poptart. After forcing himself to swallow, he frowned at Akaashi, then looked away, then returned his gaze to his face.

“Well uh, both, to be honest,” he admitted bashfully, color rising high on his cheeks.

Akaashi clenched his jaw. Why was he so bothered by it? Bokuto said it was ancient history, so what damn difference did it make?

The problem was, Akaashi couldn’t quite place who he was jealous of.

“Right. Well, you’d better get your study materials,” he said shortly, dusting off his hands on his jeans and not meeting his eyes.

Bokuto nodded and drained his glass of milk and exited, returning a moment later with his backpack.

He grabbed his copy of _Frankenstein_ before belly flopping onto the bed, jostling Akaashi’s glasses down his face.

He pushed them up and went to shoot Bokuto a withering look, but Bokuto had rolled onto his back, and was already staring up at him, pouting.

“Ak _aaaashiii_ , do we _have_ to study? Let’s just hang out for a while! We can study later,” he whined, sticking out his bottom lip pitifully, batting his eyelashes.

The late afternoon light flittered through the blinds, making Bokuto’s golden eyes gleam like precious gems, playing off the contours of his face.

Akaashi dared not notice how, without his jacket, Bokuto’s long sleeved black thermal clung to him tightly, emphasizing his muscular build and leaving little to the imagination. Stretched out as he was, the hem of Bokuto’s shirt had slipped up ever-so-slightly, exposing the Ralph Lauren elastic band of his boxers and a sliver of skin.

Bokuto yawned and rubbed his stomach, lending better views of his stupid, dumb, idiotic fucking _washboard abs_ , not even having the decency to pull his shirt back down when he finished.

Akaashi averted his eyes, desperately begging his brain to remain focused and not let his imagination go crazy.

“No. We’re studying, then I’m going home. End of discussion. What chapters do you need to have read?” he forced his mouth to say, snatching the small book from where it dangled off the bed in Bokuto’s hand.

The older boy released a drawn-out groan, and Akaashi chugged the milk glass to give him something do to other than think about if the sound was anything like what Bokuto sounded like during—

 _“SHUT THE FUCK UP OH MY GOD YOU ARE SO OBSCENE,”_ he screamed internally, setting the glass back down a little too hard.

“You’ve got a milk mustache,” Bokuto giggled, sitting up and crawling behind Akaashi to the head of his bed, where he leaned against the headboard and crossed his arms.

Akaashi rolled his eyes and traced his upper lip line with his tongue.

“Satisfied?” he double-checked, sounding more aggressive than he’d intended.

Bokuto, though, did not reply, as he was too busy burying his face in a hand.

“Mhm,” he mumbled, adding, “You’re right, let’s just get the studying over with.”

The next hour and a half was spent painstakingly dissecting Mary Shelley’s work to distract from more entertaining, equally frustrating thoughts. Halfway through, Bokuto flipped on a T.S.O.L. record and they got off-track discussing music. By the time they wrapped things up, it was dark, but Akaashi was undeniably in a better mood than he had been in for a long while. Bokuto filled the drive home with mindless chatter about how cool he thought astrology was, seeming genuinely sad when it was time for Akaashi to go inside.

That night, they both dreamt of long car rides and secret smiles.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone!! i apologize for the break between updates, but i hope the drama of this chapter makes up for it. did you think i'd just give you a fluff chapter without pain? nahhh. i just wanted to say again how much i love and appreciate all my readers, especially those that leave such kind and in-depth comments. i makes me happier than you know.
> 
> ****IMPORTANT****  
> just want to point out again that i am on TWITTER!! I'D LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU THERE! my @ is the same as my user here, @/urlocalswan :)

Chapter 11

Akaashi

Thursday was, mercifully, uneventful, despite a tense run-in with his father when Akaashi had gone downstairs for coffee.

His classes passed in an endless blur of monotone lectures and eyeball doodles. Biology was always painfully dull, although he was met with another ambush from Kenma.

As they sat filling out the lab packet for their glucose experiment, Kenma had inquired, “So Bokuto knows Konoha, right?”

At the mention of the latter, Akaashi flinched, frowning as he pushed his glasses back up his nose.

“Yes, I believe so. Why?”

Kenma shrugged, not looking up from his writing.

“So he knows what happened, right? At least from Konoha’s perspective.”

Clenching his jaw, Akaashi quirked an eyebrow at his black-clad friend.

“Yes. He mentioned something about how I fucked up Konoha bad when we first met. Is there any particular reason you’re bringing this up, or do you just take pleasure in tormenting me?” he said coolly, causing Kenma to look up at his tone.

No response for a moment, other than a few slow blinks.

Then, “Funny how shit gets spun to favor the villain.”

Some of the tension left Akaashi’s shoulders at that, and he sighed; Kenma was one of the few people that had been privy to his past relationship, the rest having sided with Konoha. He knew it was childish, but it comforted him to know Kenma, at least, was on his side.

“So that means Bokuto probably thinks you’re some evil, manipulative, controlling bastard, huh?” Kenma prodded, spinning one of his ear piercings where it punctured his lobe.

Akaashi bit his lip at the prospect, face scrunching mildly.

“At first he seemed to think that. I don’t think he knows what to make of me, at this point. I’m tutoring him again today, so he at least likes me fine enough to let me into his home and to introduce me to his little sister,” he answered, reflecting on the implications of Kenma’s question.

Did Bokuto actually hate him? Was he just using him to boost his grades? Were all those small, kind gestures just bribery?

He should’ve known better than to trust him, even a little bit.

“Oh! While we’re asking prying questions, did you know Bokuto and Kuroo used to _date_?” he quickly changed to subject, posture straightening when he remembered the bizarre revelation from the day previous.

Kenma fixed him with a flat, black-lined stare.

“Really? You want to know if I was aware of my childhood best friend’s year-long relationship with someone else I unfortunately consider a friend by association? Hmm, you’re right, Akaashi, that’s definitely something that would’ve slipped past my radar. Sure does explain all the times Kuroo would ‘platonically’ make out with Bokuto in front of me. Hmm! I should’ve picked up on it, now that you mention it,” he drawled, sarcasm and something resembling bitterness coloring his voice darkly.

Akaashi puckered his lips and muttered, “No need to be an asshole about it….”

Kenma just rolled his eyes.

~

The rest of the day was just like any other, complete with boisterous lunch conversation and banal busywork.

When the time came to meet Bokuto at the end of the day, all Akaashi wanted was a nap, or at least a medium coffee.

He was greeted by Bokuto’s usual enthusiastic, “AGKASHIII!” and an arm thrown over his shoulders in a crushing side-hug before being released.

As they walked out to the Jeep, the question couldn’t stop ringing in Akaashi’s mind.

 _“Who does he think I am? Who did Konoha_ tell him _I am?”_

The result was a silent car ride, filled only with pop hits and Bokuto casting him inquisitive glances, but not verbalizing any concern.

By the time they pulled up in front of the house and Bokuto killed the engine, Akaashi had fully convinced himself Bokuto hated him and was damn ready to walk home, but Bokuto said, “C’mon, let’s go inside. We can talk about whatever’s bugging you after we get some snacks.”

Snacks took the form of PB&J’s and tall glasses of milk as they sat wordlessly across from each other at the small eat-in kitchen dining table.

Akaashi’s eyes were trained on the table, noting the many scratches in the worn wood surface and stains from watercolor paints; a glance behind him at the fridge confirmed that a small painting depicting the Bokuto family was held in place by a Florida magnet, most likely Kelly’s work.

Bokuto, finished with his sandwich, draining his milk glass before wiping his lips on the back of his hand and saying, “’Kay. So. What’s wrong?”

Akaashi, rendered incapable of response by the glob of peanut butter and bread stuck to the roof of his mouth, shook his head. A sip of milk remedied the issue, and he sighed heavily.

“It’s nothing. Really. Let’s just focus on _Frankenstein_ , shall we?” he answered, knee bouncing beneath the table.

Bokuto frowned at him as he stood to clear their dishes, his unrelenting gaze not letting up even as he blindly switched on the sink faucet to rinse off the residual strawberry jelly.

“I wish you’d just tell me so we don’t have to be all awkward and weird this whole time,” he whined, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his jeans as he leaned against the counter.

Akaashi felt an unusual emotion rushing up within him: anger.

Which caused him to snap, “What the hell does it matter how we are? All you want is for me to tutor you, so that’s what I’ll do. Go get the damn book.”

He stood abruptly, stomping past Bokuto and in the direction of the older boy’s bedroom.

He was steps past the threshold when Bokuto caught his wrist, gripping tightly and demanding, “The hell does that even _mean_? Don’t get all pissed at me for no reason. Or, for a reason you won’t even tell me.”

Akaashi didn’t turn towards him, and after a moment, Bokuto loosened his grip.

“Did I do something to make you mad at me?” he asked, voice much softer than it had been before.

At that, Akaashi yanked his wrist free and spun on him.

“Who fucking knows, alright? _I_ thought we were friends, but who knows? This whole time, you could think I’m some monster, and wouldn’t even have the decency to tell me as much. So who fucking knows anything,” he growled, fighting to keep his voice at a normal volume.

At that, Bokuto’s face distorted in such confusion, it might’ve been funny if Akaashi wasn’t so inexplicably hurt and angry.

Bokuto charged into the room, closing the door a little too hard behind him.

“’kaashi, what the everloving _fuck_ are you even talking about?”

He shed his leather jacket, tossing it into the corner near the overflowing laundry basket, color flushing high on his cheeks from frustration.

Akaashi clenched his hands into fists, chest rising and falling quickly as adrenaline coursed through him.

“I’m _talking about_ whatever the fuck Konoha told you about me.”

Even saying the name burned like bile coming out of his mouth.

Bokuto blinked at him. Blinked again. Sat heavily on the foot of his bed.

“Oh.”

Akaashi retreated a step, nearly flattening himself against the door. Primed for escape.

“’Oh’, what?” he demanded, swallowing hard from a dry mouth. Did he really want to know?

Bokuto loosed a sigh, scratching the back of his head.

Akaashi refused to acknowledge he wore a white The Clash t-shirt, now revealed without his leather jacket, and how it reminded him of the hoodie he had lent him. Had he ever returned it?

“Alright. Fair enough. C’mere, let’s just calm down, okay? We can talk this out,” Bokuto said, patting the spot beside him on the foot of the bed.

He hesitated a moment before slowly making his way over, sitting himself down as far as possible.

Bokuto nodded to himself slightly.

“Right. So. Yeah, Konoha didn’t exactly paint the prettiest picture of you,” he admitted, and Akaashi wished he would’ve just punched him square in the jaw instead.

Lovely. Just lovely. Konoha was telling others what a piece of shit he was.

Seeing his face, Bokuto quickly added, “B-But that was before I met you! Yeah! Then I got to know you, and now it’s kinda hard, ‘cause he said all these things about you, but I just can’t see how they’re true when you’re so amazing.”

Akaashi blinked.

“A-Amazingly smart you are! Yeah. That’s what I meant,” Bokuto rushed, averting his face momentarily.

Konoha was…. Bad-mouthing him? Konoha was actively shit-talking _him_? If anything, it should be the other way around, but at least Akaashi had the shred of decency to keep his thoughts to himself. Why was Konoha even still talking about him? _Thinking_ about him? Why was he allowed even a single nanosecond of Akaashi, even the most fleeting of thoughts? After all the shit he pulled, Akaashi at least felt entitled to not being thought or spoken ill of.

Bokuto returned his gaze to Akaashi’s face, frowning when his eyes landed on the latter’s lips. A moment later, the tinny flavor of blood touched the tip of Akaashi’s tongue, and he realized he’d worried his bottom lip raw, drawing the older boy’s attention.

The punk sighed tightly and scooted a few inches closer. Slowly, cautiously, like one might approach a wild animal.

“Hey, look. There’s two sides to every story, right? Everyone’s entitled to their own version, including you. So even if Konoha didn’t have much nice to say, that doesn’t mean he’s completely right. It was just the only things I had heard about you, until Kuroo brought you along to the bonfire that first time. And now that I know you, I know there’s a lot more to ya than most people can figure out,” he said slowly, making sure he held Akaashi’s eyes as he spoke.

Akaashi shook his head, not even sure what it was he was denying. He wanted to press Bokuto on the details of what Konoha was saying, but his poor heart, and, more importantly, his stomach, couldn’t take the emotions already churning within him. Somehow, it felt so inherently _wrong_ for Bokuto to know Konoha, for the two to even know of the other’s existence.

In Akaashi’s mind, they were diametric opposites. Two things never, _ever_ meant to meet, infinitely separate like parallel lines on an invisible plane. Because Bokuto, to Akaashi, represented everything Konoha wasn’t. He was open, not enigmatic; he understood emotions, his own as well as others.

When he looked at Akaashi, Bokuto’s eyes got bright, instead of going dull like Konoha’s.

“Hey,” Bokuto said, voice soft, hesitant.

Akaashi turned his gaze back towards him, back having slouched and head hung in something like defeat.

Sure enough, Bokuto was looking at him with those eyes, eyes he had never seen before, eyes even Konoha had denied him.

Eyes he didn’t dare interpret.

Gold and shining like fairy lights, like candles in windows in Christmastime, like stars on a cloudless night far from the suburbs that made one feel like God had hung them especially for you.

Akaashi had been too caught up to notice Bokuto’s hand extending until calloused fingertips ghosted across his cheek, so light and gentle it felt like nothing more than a breeze, too feathery and hesitant to qualify as a proper caress.

“Hey,” Akaashi breathed in reply, just fingertips enough to warm his shivering soul.

“’kaashi,” Bokuto mumbled, then smiled just a little, like he liked the word very much, so much just the act of saying it forced his lips to quirk upwards.

The knot in Akaashi’s stomach clenched, so hard he nearly gasped, but he didn’t dare move, he _couldn’t_ move, not with Bokuto’s gaze holding him in place and even the slightest twitch brushing rough fingers across his flushed cheek.

“’kaashi, I don’t care. I don’t care what Konoha said, not one bit. ‘Cause I don’t need someone else to tell me who you are. I already know. Okay? I already know you, ‘kaashi,” Bokuto insisted, pressing his hand flat against the side of Akaashi’s face, thumb framing his chin and holding him in place.

At that, Akaashi shook his head again, twice, hard and painful, as if he was trying to shake Bokuto loose, but that warm hand stayed where it was.

“You don’t. You _can’t_ ; no one can. Not anymore.”

He didn’t even know what he was saying anymore, words just tumbled their way past his lips of their own accord.

This throat was constricting, as if trying to keep the words at bay, and his body proposed a trade: he could keep talking, keep explaining, keep following the path he was on, so long as he burst into tears.

They were already budding at the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall if he said one more syllable, and he knew Bokuto noticed, because the hand holding his face gripped tighter and that golden gaze got all the more concentrated.

“I _do,_ I swear it. I don’t know much, but I know you. I don’t have to know everything to know you. I know you, ‘kaashi, and I _like you_ ,” he told him, eyes and voice earnest, and Akaashi bit his already-bleeding lip to keep his welling eyes at bay as he averted his gaze.

When he looked back, he found Bokuto’s face much closer than it had been before.

Close enough to feel his breath, close enough to see count his eyelashes, close enough to see faded scars of pubescent acne, close enough that if he leaned forward just one miniscule inch their lips would introduce. Close enough that if Bokuto looked carefully, he’d see the fear and burgeoning Something hidden behind Akaashi’s damp eyes.

Too close.

Akaashi put a hand to Bokuto’s shoulder, halting for an instant, before fully pushing him away and lurching to a shaky standing position.

“I-I. Go. I have to go. I have to leave. I-I’m going.”

He stumbled over his words and feet alike as he scrambled towards the exit, hand trembling as he ripped open the door.

Akaashi threw his backpack over his shoulders, aware of Bokuto calling for him to wait, but he just shoved his feet into his Converse and tucked the laces in, in too much of a hurry to tie them properly.

“Wait, _please,_ Ak—,” Bokuto pleaded, reaching for him, but Akaashi had already forced himself through the front door and slammed it.

He took off, first jogging, then into a proper run, tears blurring his vision and backpack beating painfully on his back as he sprinted away, not even knowing where he was going.

What the _fuck_ had just happened?

When he was two blocks away, he threw himself down in the grass beside a stop sign, taking a moment to catch his breath and properly tie his sneakers.

Akaashi yanked his green sweater over his head, shoving it into his backpack as he panted and wiped at his damp cheeks.

Was Bokuto going to—

No.

No, nothing like that.

Surely, Bokuto wasn’t so stupid as to try to get involved with a trainwreck like Akaashi.

He closed his eyes, his breathing beginning to level out.

Right.

Of course not.

He overreacted.

His heart rate was finally returning to normal…. Until someone at the stop sign beside him laid on their horn, blasting _Africa_ by Toto.

Akaashi’s eyes flew open, and the driver screamed, “AGHKAAAAAAAAAAHIIIIIIIII!”

Bokuto ripped open the driver’s door and hopped out, door open, engine still running, jogging over to Akaashi.

Panic gripped him and he leaped to his feet, instinctively tightening his backpack straps and peeling away like his name was the horn beginning a 100-yard sprint.

A fearful glance over his shoulder confirmed Bokuto was following him full steam ahead, and Akaashi swore colorfully; he never should’ve given up volleyball.

In his woefully out-of-shape state, it’d only be a matter of minutes before his stamina wore out and the fucking chiseled athlete Bokuto caught up to him.

“LEAVE ME ALOOONE!” Akaashi screamed, throat raw as he huffed and puffed the cold November air.

His sides burned, his back ached, his legs screamed; he wouldn’t hold out much longer.

“NO! I JUST WANNA TAAAALK! AGHKAAAAAAASH!” Bokuto hollered in response, gaining on him.

Just as he was about to give in, Akaashi spotted it: his saving grace, in the form of a well-maintained suburban 7/11 gas station that all the kids got their munchies and cigs from.

Taking a hard left off the sidewalk, he sprinted across the street, leaping over the grassy median and nearly killing himself when a car narrowly missed him as it swerved past.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?!” Bokuto shouted, hardly a yard away.

Akaashi ignored him and ran up to the gas station doors, ripping open the door and rushing in the direction of what he knew was a single-stall bathroom.

The bell dinged again an instant after him, announcing Bokuto’s arrival.

Akaashi had nearly sweat through his thin white t-shirt, and he wiped his brow, crouching behind a rack of Doritos and watching as Bokuto halted at the front counter, wide eyes scanning the convenience store.

Fucking hell. He was barely winded.

It barely took him two full pans for Bokuto’s eyes to catch Akaashi’s, and he began jogging over.

He was about to make a run for it when—

“Keiji?”

A female voice.

A familiar female voice.

A familiar female voice he hated more than just about any other sound in the entire Godforsaken world.

Slowly, he straightened and turned, because he knew the world was about to tip on the wrong axis.

Because if _she_ was there, then—

“Oh. Ke—Um. Akaashi.”

This voice belonged to Konoha. He wasn’t Akinori anymore. Just Konoha.

He was Just Konoha with his arm around the waist of Yukie.

Shiny lip gloss residue stuck to the cheek of Just Konoha that also adorned the lips of Yukie.

It was Konoha.

And Yukie.

Konoha and Yukie.

Together.

Konoha and Yukie, together, together and in front of him together, together and without him, even though it used to be Konoha and him together with Yukie.

“GOTCHA! HA! You thought you could get awa— Oh fuck.”

The strong, sweaty arms of Bokuto had briefly clasped around Akaashi from behind, only to release him like he’d suddenly transformed into a snake when Bokuto took in the scene before him.

Akaashi hardly noticed him.

His vision, his hearing, all five of his goddamn senses were tunneled to know one thing and one thing only: Akinori Konoha.

The sight of him, good God.

The sight of him alone went straight to Akaashi’s knees, making them weak and barely capable of supporting him.

He looked…. The same, for the most part.

In the year since he’d last seen him, not much had changed.

Sandy blond hair swept across his forehead casually, hanging in his cold green eyes in that way that proved to everyone just how little he cared.

God, those eyes.

They wouldn’t look at him.

He couldn’t bear the sight of him, not even for a moment.

Akaashi doubted he’d looked at him since Yukie said his name.

He was…. Good.

He looked as good as ever.

Better, even.

He looked just as good, if not better, than he had when Akaashi was in his life.

Konoha gripped Yukie’s waist like his life depended on it.

Yukie.

She looked good too.

Her hair was a little longer, and her eyebrows were a little less furrowed than they had been when Akaashi had claimed her as his best friend.

“You. Know Bokuto. It seems…?” Yukie forced out, her polite smile wavering.

Akaashi was incapable of complex thought.

Even a simple yes or no eluded him.

All of his focus was now on not emptying the contents of his stomach onto the floor of the 7/11.

“Yes.”

His voice sounded hollow and foreign even to his own ears.

Akaashi was impressed with himself for forcing out the syllable.

“Well. I’ll be going.”

One foot, then the other, then the other, then the other.

Cool, calm, and collected, as if he wasn’t shaking so hard he feared his skeleton would collapse in on itself.

As soon as he made it out the door, Akaashi jogged around to the back of the store and vomited his guts up, retching and gagging miserably for a solid ten minutes.

He didn’t dare go back inside to the bathroom to rinse out his mouth; instead, he spit as much as he could, then began the walk home.

~

When he got home, the house was empty. The curtains were drawn, and the lights were off, making it dark and quiet and perfect for Akaashi’s breakdown.

Slowly, carefully, he untied and removed his shoes at the door before making his way upstairs to his bedroom.

There, Akaashi set his backpack down beside his desk before taking out his bunched-up sweater and placing it in the laundry basket in the far corner of his room. After that, he stripped down to his boxer-briefs, gingerly removing his glasses and placing them on the bedside table before grabbing a pillow to bury his face in.

A few moments passed with him like that, lying on his bed, clutching a pillow to his chest, eyes slammed shut.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Images of Konoha flashed through his mind.

His eyes his hair his lips, _“’Just move on, Keiji’”_ , the plans they had made, the long nights spent in each other’s embrace, _“’I just don’t think I feel that way now’”_.

And, something new.

 _“’I_ like you _, ‘kaashi’”_

Ah.

There it was.

Akaashi’s breathing hitched and at last the floodgates opened as he broke down in sobs, muffled only by the pillow. He didn’t dare force himself to stop, for he feared where else this gutted feeling would manifest if he didn’t let it out somehow.

An hour later, Akaashi’s scream-crying had lessened to the occasional hiccup, and he forced himself into the shower.

The scalding water washed over his trembling frame, and he rinsed his face, scrubbed his hair viciously, washing his body thrice over as if he could physically wipe away all traces of the day that had just been inflicted upon him.

After lying in a towel for another forty-five minutes, flopped on his bed as he succumbed to the black hole sucking at him, Akaashi eventually dressed and crept downstairs.

It was a little passed ten at night; he’d heard his mother come home shortly before he had gotten in the shower, meaning he was the only one awake.

Akaashi reached out for the house phone, mounted conveniently to the wall shared by the kitchen and the dining room near the stairs.

His arm drowned in the fabric of his double-XL sweatshirt as he carefully removed the phone from the receiver, dialing as best he could from memory.

At first, he’d been tempted to call Kenma.

But he didn’t want to be reasonable.

After his cry session and shower, what he really wanted was to be _un_ reasonable, to be wild and reckless and to _feel good_ , above all else.

At the moment, there was only one sure-fire provider of pleasure.

The phone only rang twice before a familiar voice purred, “Kuroo residence.”

Akaashi took a deep breath, steeling his nerves.

“Hi. It’s Akaashi. I’d like to see you tomorrow.”

He heard muffled movement on the other end of the receiver, then, “Why hello there. I’ll have to check my oh-so-busy schedule, but I should be free after school. Of course, there’s the bonfire, but I can’t blame you for your impatience,” Kuroo answered, but Akaashi shook his head.

“No. No school,” he said.

He knew he was making no fucking sense, but he was desperate, desperate for something, anything, to make the ache in his chest subside.

“No school? My, Akaashi, I sure hope you aren’t suggesting we _ditch_ ,” Kuroo replied in a scandalized tone.

“Yes. We ditch. You pick me up at ten. We see a movie, and smoke and drink and fuck until we can’t see straight. I’ll see you then.”

Akaashi hung up before Kuroo could utter another syllable.


End file.
